Parenthood
by completelyensnarryed
Summary: Harry and Snape live together after the war. Post-DH. Epilogue-compliant. Humor. Hurt/comfort. Some angst. Romance. How did this come about and why in Merlin's name did Snape agree to it? Warning: This is a SLASH story. If you 1) do not know what slash is, 2) do not like slash, or 3) do not like snarry slash - please save us both a lot of confusion and do not read.
1. Chapter 0

Title: Parenthood (4 chapters)

Author:ensnarryed

Rating: R

Pairing: hp/ss

Word count: About 40,000 words total. ~10,000 words per chapter.

Chapters: 4

Summary: Harry and Snape live together after the war. Post-DH. Epilogue-compliant. Humor. Hurt/comfort. Some angst. Romance. How did this come about and why in Merlin's name did Snape agree to it?

A/N: Portrait password borrowed from the EA Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince game. This story contains winks to two famous non-Harry Potter related works.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

On November 13th, Harry Potter was asked to remove himself from his place of residence. That request came from... his wife.

Deep down, he knew she was right. But he also knew that someday he would return to her (when he learned to be a better parent to their child, whom Mr Potter was bidden to take along with him on his way out).

With nowhere else to go, Mr Potter appeared at the home of his only single friend Severus Snape.

Several years earlier, Mr Snape's wife had thrown him out, requesting that he never return.

Can two divorced men share an apartment (with a child between them) without driving each other crazy?

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

The sounds of cheerful laughter emanating from the sitting room seemed to permeate everywhere. They even reached Severus Snape's home laboratory, located in the lower depths of the house.

Driven by an impulse he had not realised he possessed, Snape came up the stairs to partake in the happy spectacle (in reality, of course, it was to make sure Potter hadn't broken anything he shouldn't have, while playing with his spawn).

The scene that greeted him when he chanced to look into his own sitting room could only be described as Happy.

Potter was chasing his son around the room on his broomstick, hovering about two feet in the air and pretending to catch the youngest Potter. Who, in turn (and in between fits of unrepentant, childish laughter), attempted to get away from his father as fast as his toy broomstick allowed him, sometimes leaping away through the air, but mostly by galloping away on clumsy, childish legs.

Snape sneered at the boy's pathetic attempt.

Sometimes the apple fell quite a ways off from its founding tree, Snape thought unflatteringly as he remembered a similar scene, from a photograph he snatched from Grimmauld Place, of Harry flying on his toy broomstick. The older Potter was much more adept at flying, even back then, at the same tender young age.

And suddenly, Snape had had quite enough of Happy.

Looking around the room for something to grasp onto and criticize, he noticed that the room was emptier than usual. Ah. So Potter had put away the furniture to make room for this endeavor of his.

Snape grinned vindictively.

This was... absolutely perfect.

He came up the stairs the rest of the way, disapproving frown turning into an all-out scowl as 'Junior' nearly knocked him off his feet.

Upon righting himself, Snape glared at Potter as he caught his son easily in one arm.

Potter, having caught sight of him, stopped, surprised, when he noticed Snape's expression. James continued to giggle, not realizing just who had caught him, and what it meant for him and his father's game.

Purposefully dusting himself off with his free hand while looking at Potter matter-of-factually, Snape came nearer.

"Is this yours?" he demanded waspishly and thrust James into the Boy-Who-Lived's arms.

"Snape? What-?" Harry took James from him, not understanding what Snape's abrupt entrance into the room signified. Usually the man stayed in his laboratory while Harry played with James at this time.

Snape never openly sought him out. Strange.

"I require use of my sitting room," Snape said pointedly, looking around. "Get out."

"We were playing," Harry countered. "We'll be done in a -"

But Snape would have none of it.

"Have you forgotten what day it is?" It was not really a question.

"Saturday," Harry answered automatically. "But what has that-" he stopped, as realisation came to him. "Oh, come ON, Snape!"

"Yes." Snape would have none of it. His tone was so emphatic that even James stopped laughing, realising that their game would not be resumed because of the dark man who had just come in and was scowling at his father.

"You don't HAVE to Scourgify the carpets every week, Snape!" Harry shook his head, obviously trying to win their argument.

"On the contrary. I have been doing so since before you were born, Potter. And not you, not anyone, is going to stop my good tradition." Besides, Potter had already done half the work for him by levitating the furniture into storage. Best to take advantage of the moment.

"Oh, alright," Potter sighed, resigned, and made to go up the stairs.

"Oh, Potter?" Snape called him back sweetly. Weary, Harry turned around.

Two pairs of eyes stared, surprised, at the Potions Master. One green, the other hazel.

"Are all these for me?" Snape's tone acquired acidity, as he waved his arm about the room, and at all the toys that Harry and James had strewn about in the duration of their game. "Because I assure you, you needn't have bothered." The tone turned cold. "Anything you leave here will be disposed of. Permanently. And you damn well know it."

Harry scowled at Snape at that, and so did James, but as father and son went up the stairs, Snape noted that all their toys were levitating obediently behind them. Snape heard the door open and close behind each one until it closed after the last, and Snape was left in blissful silence.

That was how he liked it.

"Aguamenti!" he cast, spraying water on the carpets, thoroughly wetting them down before whispering, "Scourgify!" and watched as soap bubbles liberally coated his sitting room floor.

Perfect.

Snape thought to himself that he would never, ever, get tired of watching dirty things becoming clean as the scent of the soap charm wafted up to his nose, and he inhaled, deeply.

Delicious!

A clean house is a happy house, he thought to himself as he worked, and Snape decided to be very, very happy.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

Snape became so engrossed in his work, that he did not notice the late afternoon turn into late evening.

He had, however, noted that the carpet now shone with sparkling dewdrops of cleanliness and felt a moment of pride that he decided to bask in as he looked around his pristine sitting room.

The furniture looked plush, sitting there on the newly washed carpet.

Snape sat himself on the couch, and Summoned his writing journal, deciding to do a bit of light reading before heading on up to sleep.

Checking the time, he realised that Potter must be putting James to sleep, and, remembering how unceremoniously he had thrown the Boy-Who-Lived out of this very room, thought it unlikely that Potter would be back. More likely, he would be licking his wounds until tomorrow morning, when the smell of freshly cooked breakfast would get him up, and he would forget all about Snape's unfairness.

Snape's cooking tended to do that.

It wasn't that the boy and his son had bothered Snape. Not in the least. Potter had proven to be a capable father. James was not spoiled. Snape had seen Potter discipline his son when the boy's behaviour had been inappropriate. It was not just fun and games, being the Boy-Who-Lived's son. And James, surprised as Snape was to admit this about James Potter' s namesake, was growing up quite capable. He was not a sullen, unhappy boy, who wished to have only his father's approval, and not face any of the responsibilities of discipline. On the contrary, James seemed to be genuinely attached to Harry, and, (though he would never admit this to anyone), Snape found this endearing.

He had never known what a happy home life was, until Harry and James had come to live with him. And even this knowledge had to be come upon from moments stolen, spying upon the happy father and son.

Failing to notice quite when his musings had turned to nostalgia, Snape took out a little notebook, and, his dark eyes full of wistfulness, opened it, taking out a small square of paper and allowing memories to over take him.

Very briefly, a small, tentative smile appeared on his face as what ever he must have remembered brought contentedness, as he looked his fill upon a photograph of a young girl, no more than five, in a plad over dress, worn on top of a freshly starched, white shirt that must have been the girl's school uniform. She was looking up at a dark-haired, dark-eyed, a bit younger Snape, who was smiling indulgently as the girl tugged on his hand, mischief in her eyes.

His fingertips brushed against the photograph softly, gently, as though afraid to lose the moment it caught, and shatter the magic of the wonderfully happy moment that had somehow made it into his life.

Rubbish. It was all a heap of rubbish.

Snape had always known that he would be a terrible parent. And he was right.

Coward. Stinking, useless, good-for-nothing coward. 

The photograph fluttered from his hand down to his lap, as Snape rubbed his fingers over his eyes. He kept them closed, and did not open them, so that, after a few moments (Fate surely took pity on him when She made this happen), he had fallen into a doze before hardly noticing the occurrence.

The crackle of the fire in the Floo did not waken him from his near doze, nor did he stir when the shadow of a young girl emerged from the fireplace, nor when she, looking around in the semi-darkness, spotted the figure of Snape on the couch, and, approaching, touched his arm.

He did not realise what had woken him, nor that he had fallen asleep, until an angel was looking into his face and smiling down at him.

"Aria!" he exhaled all in one breath and lunged out of his seat, his arms automatically going around the (now) seven-year-old girl and lifting her in his arms as he got up, hugging her protectively to his chest as he heard her laughter.

"Da!" She giggled.

It's been too long.

It didn't matter.

She was here now.

And he had all but given up on seeing her again...

She was saying something else too, through her happiness, but Snape hardly heard her (nodding his agreement to anything she said, as usual) as he was slowly but surely kissing every inch of her face, before moving to her tiny (for they will always be tiny to him!) hands, making her giggle as they involuntarily folded into childish half-fists.

His little Aria was back.

"You came..." he whispered against her hair, inhaling her scent, memorising it, kissing her head. "I knew you would..." Tears, unbidden, filled his eyes at this admission. He didn't... But still she was here, for him, for him...

He clutched her tighter.

Little angel.

How had it even been possible, that he had managed to create a child as perfect as her? In the aftermath of war, when he had been all but despised, with a death warrant on his head, and having to hide his survival from the Magical Authorities, he had never dreamed that anything so perfect as Aria Rowena Eileen Snape could be granted to him. Ever.

Traitors are not given reprieves, and Snape lost count to the number of people he had betrayed, on both sides of the war.

How had she managed to escape his terrible, terrible, fate and had been born, in spite of all the unflattering wishes that Snape had received, post-Dark Lord and post-Dumbledore, usually in the form of hexes and the darkest of magics that told him, quite simply, that they wished him a fate worse than Death?

But oh how he appreciated her.

He would be a fool not to, really.

Intelligent, wonderful, obedient, and enthusiastic child, he had known right away what a gift from above his Aria was to him, and Snape would be damned if he would not be grateful for the small reprieve from his dark existence.

She loved him from the first moment they had met. Seven years ago.

On her first ever birth day.

The attachment only grew stronger as the days went on.

Big dark eyes, like her father, and dark brown hair that shone with gold highlights in the sun that gave the impression that Snape were looking at a heavenly being and not one of flesh and blood. She had inherited his nose, but in a much softer face, so that it had worked in her favour.

The mouth that she inherited from her... mother... But nevertheless it was a mouth that turned up into the brightest smile Snape had ever seen.

If God had the penchant for smiling visibly down upon people, Snape concluded that it would look not much different from the smile gracing Aria's features.

Again and again he asked himself how ever he had managed to create something so beautiful.

The attachment solidified into a deeper feeling when he realised that Aria's attractiveness was not merely physical.

She was growing into a wonderful person, both inside, and out.

She had magical talent, too, which became apparent not long after her birth. A rare, precious gift of a daughter, if he even needed more proof.

A testament to the fact was the certainty that Aria, when time came, would doubtlessly sort into Gryffindor (he was already putting galleons aside for her seven years' education at the best wizarding school in the united kingdom), but he could not begrudge her even this unfortunate Sorting.

Because nothing Aria did could ever be termed 'unfortunate.'

He had finally come to understand what it was like to be a parent. And Snape would not trade his daughter for anything in the world – not universal wizarding recognition, not an Order of Merlin, no. Not even the ability to be able to walk about magical Britain unhidden...

Aria... She was his... ...Everything... really.

He remembered even the Naming Ceremony, of Summoning the Registry Scroll hastily, before it Disappeared to the Ministry, remembered writing in a name that he would be proud to call his only child, and not just the official first standing name of...

"Josephine!" an annoyed, female voice, emanated from the vicinity of the Floo.

Snape winced and turned his back on the flames, willing himself not to be reminded, just a little while longer...

But she would not be denied. As usual.

"I should have known! Can you not leave us alone, Snape?" the voice began a familiar tirade as a very well-kept woman stepped out of the fire place. "What must I do to rid us of your presence for good?"

Snape blinked slowly before turning around.

Then he set his daughter on the ground, straightening slowly before facing his ex.

"Kill me..." he intoned softly, in a tone partial of suggestion and mockery.

"I have no tolerance for your games," Alison retorted coldly. "There is no reason for you to keep coming around, setting Josephine up, giving her false hopes... Face facts, Severus. There is no room for you in our lives any longer."

"She is my daughter, too," Snape growled.

"How dare you!" Alison screeched. "After everything you did! No, Snape, Josephine is no more yours than I am. You lost your claim on her years ago! I don't know how you managed to get past my wards, but you will not succeed again! You would do well to remember that you have NO DAUGHTER!"

"Never..." Snape whispered so softly, that only the wall mice could have discerned from the vibrating air. But they were nowhere to be found, right this moment.

At the same time, Alison threw out her hand as though to enfold her daughter from the vile miasma of Snape's home.

"We are leaving, Josephine. Right now."

Snape caught her wrist. He said nothing, but his eyes flashed. Not fury.

A warning.

"She is my daughter too," he repeated softly. His words full of promise. "I will come for her when ever I want."

Alison smirked an ugly smile.

"Try it and I tell the whole Wizarding World that Severus Snape is alive," she countered, her words dripping with poison. "What will the Ministry do to you, I wonder, after a discovery like that?" Alison smiled unpleasantly. "Life sentence in Azkaban, do you think?" her voice lowered until only the two of them could hear, but lost none of her vitriol. "Then again," she made a jest as though considering this option. "This WILL keep you out of our lives. Permanently. Whether you want to or not." She said maliciously.

Snape paled at her words.

She had him there. Knowing the Ministry, he will not get off with a life sentence, either. It would be so much the worse, if they get wind that he is alive. And he can forget about even seeing (in a matter of speaking) Aria again...

Alison's prediction ringing in his ears like the death knell, Snape lowered himself to his knees, weary, until he was face to face with his daughter.

"I have a present for you. It is in your room. Go get it."

As Aria left to comply, he heard Alison make a self-satisfied sound. To Snape it sounded as though a starving snake swallowed a frog and choked on it.

Snape ignored her as he raised himself up to his full height.

Their eyes met and Snape wondered how she could ever have enticed him. There was nothing human in her. Or was this the transformation she had undergone because of their continuing interaction?

Was this the only sort of intimate human contact he was deserving of? An uninspiring discovery.

Luckily, Aria came back right at this moment, and spared him the necessity of continuing this painful rumination.

Aria held a toy rabbit in her right hand, dejected, his lower torso trailing on the floor, as she approached her mother, not looking at her, but still obeying. Good.

No sense arousing suspicion.

"Not very creative, are you, Severus?" Alison sneered. Her face revealed everything else that she did not voice aloud about what she thought of the gift.

"Where is your Floo powder?" she asked after she gripped her daughter's other hand, searching the mantelpiece with her eyes.

As if Snape were about to answer, she pre-empted him. "Never mind, I see it." She threw a handful of Floo powder into the hearth and intoned her residence, eyes stealing back to Snape.

"Don't bother memorising the name. I am changing my passwords as soon as we are home," she warned.

Snape hardly heard her. Because in that instant, Aria met his gaze.

_The rabbit is full of Floo powder. Do not play with him in your mother's presence_.

Aria nodded. Her chin lifted determinedly in response and now, now, she pulled the rabbit up higher, holding it with her whole arm now. Some of the earlier dejectedness disappeared from her features.

They disappeared in a whoosh of green fire place ashes, leaving Snape alone with his many cumbersome thoughts.

As always, Alison had managed to dissipate every shred of happiness that Snape had managed to collect over the course of the day.

He felt utterly drained.

Defeated, weary (and oh, so, so cold), he sat before the fire and spelled the flames up as high as he could make them go. The burst of warmth hardly affected his countenance.

He Summoned a quilt and he wrapped himself up in it, willing himself to be invisible to the world.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

It was already late, but Harry saw a light in the sitting room, so he knew that Snape was not asleep. Snape always slept strictly in his bedroom and Harry knew that much about the man.

Because he needed a favour.

A last-minute one, because Harry had put off asking Snape until he had exhausted all of his other friends and relatives, until there was no choice but to just go and ask Snape, or beg Snape (if necessary), because today was the last day to resolve this.

He really needed Snape to grant him this favour.

Raising his hand, he balled it up into a fist and knocked on the door to the sitting room.

Sounds of mild swearing, muffled by the closed door, reached Harry's ears, as well as a sound of someone shuffling to the door to open it.

The door opened, revealing Snape standing in front of it, blocking Harry's entry and wearing an ill-promising facade.

Snape was scowling.

"What the hell do you want, Potter?" He sneered. "Isn't the hour well past your bedtime?" He mocked, gazing at Harry up and down with a look of undisguised fury.

Harry would have gotten angry at the reception. What was Snape's problem? I have not shown him any disrespect!

But his anger evaporated when he caught sight of Snape's eyes.

Hopeless. Helpless. Frustrated. As though he were a cornered animal, who had seen his master coming upon him with words of torture on his lips...

Red-rimmed eyes. Had Snape been crying? Harry wondered. Unlikely that it was over our earlier disagreement.

No. Their interactions, at least, did not go any different than normal.

Then what could have happened from the moment that Harry left Snape to his sitting room?

"Going to stand there long, Potter?" Snape forced out. "Because I assure you, I have other things to do besides allowing you to gape your fill at me." He made to close the door, but Harry stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

He would have thrown it off, too. How DARE you, Potter! But something in Snape broke at the contact. A something that told Snape that Potter was not being disrespectful.

"You're not alright," Potter whispered, green eyes gazing into his face. Their eyes met and Snape never before saw eyes with as much sympathy (for him!) as Potter's eyes, in this very moment.

Potter's words echoed deeply inside Snape's chest, resonating in tact with Potter's eyes. It was almost as though Potter... cared. Ludicrous.

And yet Snape believed him.

"No," he whispered, shaking his head, and Potter, sensing that he was not refused, entered the sitting room. His own wishes could wait a bit. At least, he concluded, until he found out what was happening with Snape.

Snape did not preclude him. Instead, he made to step away from the door and towards where, Harry looked and realised, he had previously been camping out. On the couch. In front of the fireplace. A quilt haphazardly lying on one end.

So unlike Snape, who was always so meticulous.

His gaze came back to Snape, and their eyes met.

The man's eyes were full of tears! Unshed but promising, and even as Snape attempted to quickly avert his gaze, Harry pre-empted him and wrapped his arms around Snape, drawing him into a hug.

Snape was almost crying! Snape NEVER cries! What the fuck happened?

"Go away, Potter," Snape said softly, his words full of anger. "What would the Boy-Who-Lived," he sneered into Harry's chest, "Wizarding Father of the Year, possibly know about missing one's child? Yours is right here with you!"

Shocked, Harry did not know what to say to Snape's outburst. Snape used Harry's surprise to pull away from their proximity.

Snape's sarcasm did not endear Harry to this conversation. Father of the Year? Harry was no such thing, and Snape knew it. That's what got him in trouble with Ginny in the first place...

But the last part rang through Harry's head. Something about a child... Did Snape have one? One that he missed enough to be distraught to the point of tears?

Shock filled Harry. He could not believe that Snape had a child... and one that he cared about so deeply to let anyone (even Harry!) see him in this state!

Harry held onto the man tighter until the man stopped struggling against Harry.

"I am not letting you go, you stubborn git," Harry whispered against the top of Snape's head, the comforting motion similar to one that he used to quiet James when the latter was upset.

Such thoughts were in Harry's head as he hugged Snape to his chest, holding the man until he stopped struggling against Harry and accepted the comfort being offered. After a moment, Harry felt cautious arms wrap around Harry as well, as Snape returned Harry's embrace.

A head came to rest on Harry's shoulder, as Snape's breathing shuddered briefly before the man hid his face in the folds of Harry's thick woolen sweater.

They stood like that.

If he heard any untoward sounds emanating from Snape, he did not let on and merely stood still, being a silent comfort to a man who had become a friend to him in the last few years of their close association.

When Snape pulled away, the fireplace was burning low and a shadow was over Snape's face. Harry could not make out the man's expression. Perhaps it was for the best – Harry had long ago learned how the man hated to show his vulnerability.

"Do you really want to know?" the man whispered, and Harry's heart broke. So forlorn, and said with an intonation as though Snape had given up thinking that anyone on this planet will ever give a damn about him...

No wonder the man was such a bastard.

Harry wanted to fix that.

"Yes," the Boy-Who-Lived answered with a maximum of confidence injected into his words. Then, wishing to give Snape a moment to compose himself, Harry smiled down on Snape, kindness shining in his green eyes.

"We need tea. And biscuits. Lots of food for thought. I'll be right back," he said, and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

He came back not a moment later, carrying a tray with a piping hot tea pot, two tea cups, and three boxes of biscuits. Snape nearly laughed. Potter would owe him grocery money for this endeavor – Snape was usually more frugal with the tea sweets.

He would have laughed too, except he caught the look on Potter's face, and felt Potter's hand on his shoulder, and knew that he would compensate the biscuits he and Potter consumed without asking Potter for a single knut.

If this was all a joke to Potter... Snape would take it out on his hide. Oh yes he will.

But...

Potter sat down next to him, in front of the fire, pouring tea for the both of them.

Tea proved to be an excellent distraction, because Snape had neither the desire nor the ability to know how to begin the uncomfortable talk that this one was surely going to end up, between himself and Potter.

Reaching for the tea, he brought it to his lap and held it in two hands, staring into the contents of the cup. Meanwhile Potter took up his own cup and added three spoonfuls of sugar to it, stirring absent-mindedly as he looked at Snape.

Snape took a courageous gulp of the scalding hot tea, and was grateful for the pain it elicited as a distraction. He told himself that it was the only reason he opened his mouth.

"I saw her today." Snape offered and took one more swallow of tea. He had never wished to see her again. "It seems I can never get away from her..." Then, belatedly realising that Harry had no idea, he clarified. "My lovely wife came by today," his voice darkening on the word lovely.

Well!

That was a shock. And Harry hadn't even realised that Snape was married.

Determined to hear Snape to the end, however, Harry remained silent as he drank his own tea.

Snape continued.

"Our association will haunt me to the end, it seems" Snape's voice was bitter. "She has promised to reveal to the Ministry that I am alive unless I forego my own child." He looked distinctly unhappy.

"That doesn't sound like much of a threat," Harry ventured carefully. "Why should it matter that the Ministry discover you are alive?"

Snape raised his eyes to Harry. "Potter, if they find my location, I will never see my daughter again! They will lock me in Azkaban for three life spans' length, to account for my past crimes!"

Harry was surprised now.

Snape, seeing Harry's expression, continued. "And I can forget about seeing Aria again, if that happens!"

Aria. So that was the name of Snape's child.

"Not like it would be of tremendous benefit to me, to see Aria after I have become soulless."

The way Snape was going on about it... Harry finished off his tea, not comprehending. It were almost as though he believed that the Ministry would drag him off to Azkaban indefinitely, should they get wind about his whereabouts...

But surely that's not true? Harry wondered. With Kingsley an important part of the new Ministry regime now, and with Harry's involvement, surely something could be done? Snape had an Order of Merlin, First Class, from the Ministry now, for crying out loud! Sure, it was only awarded at Harry's behest, and (presumably) post-humously, but Harry had believed it to be a good sign when he had received his Order of Merlin along with Snape's (because Snape was presumed dead).

Because surely the Ministry does not lock up Order of Merlin recipients in Azkaban prison. That was, of course, Harry's primary stipulation in getting Snape that Order of Merlin. He couldn't clear Snape's name completely, because Harry had only known Snape and his war involvement for so long, and there was a whole span of time of Snape's history that the Ministry was asking about, for a full pardon, that Harry knew nothing about. That span of time occupied the entire bottom drawer in Harry's room, in the form of scrolls, all filled with questions from the Ministry that Harry did not know how to answer...

With an Order of Merlin, First Class, awarded to Snape, lying on top of it.

He had planned to give it to Snape months ago, but had always been thwarted. Either he was with the team, practising, or away from Snape because of a Quidditch tournament, but to this day Snape's Order of Merlin remained in Harry's possession, and Snape was no wiser for it. A spasm of guilt squeezed at Harry's conscience. Would it help Snape to know that he was not so completely a pariah with the Ministry for Magic?

Even if it wouldn't, Harry should have given it to Snape a long time ago.

His heart went out to the man. Harry was not sure when he would clear Snape's name with the Ministry (A LOT of paperwork was involved!), but looking at the distraught man next to him, Harry vowed that he would clear Snape's name!

He remained quiet a bit too long.

Snape scowled at him.

"Why did I bother explaining to you, Potter? You obviously cannot be of any help whatsoever!" Snape turned away in disgust, staring into the flames of the fireplace.

"I'll... be right back, Snape," Harry offered suddenly, deciding to waste no more time in letting Snape know. "There is something I've been meaning to show you."

The man did not turn back to Harry. "Fine," the man nodded absently. "If it is about sitting with James tomorrow, I agree."

Harry's eyes widened. How did Snape know he was going to ask that? He hadn't even brought it up with the man, yet. He wondered if he had somehow given himself away...

"Potter, you are so transparent. The entire Wizarding World knows the schedule of the Boy-Who-Lived. As they do the fact that you are playing in the semi-finals tomorrow. It doesn't take a great mind to put two and two together," Snape told him. "You need someone to sit with your son," and continued, "I agree."

"Well, thanks, Snape," Harry answered, relieved. "But I still have something to show you."

And with that he disappeared up the stairs to the room he and James shared.

When he came back in, he was holding a square box in his hands. A violet-coloured, velvet box in his hands, similar to jewelry boxes, but too big to hold a bracelet or a ring. He came nearer and, sitting in front of his tea cup, offered the box to Snape.

"I've been meaning to give it to you for a long time," Harry began uncertainly. "I am sorry I haven't gotten around to it sooner."

"Are you proposing to me, Potter?" Snape mocked, but there was no cruel streak in the tone of his voice. "Because I must remind you that you are still married..."

"Just open it, you git," Harry laughed. "It's not a bonding ring. But if that is what you need, I promise to get you one next time..."

Snape smirked. "A bonding ring from the famous Harry Potter! What will the Wizarding World say?"

But he never got to finish telling Harry just what wizarding society would say, because he had opened the box and gasped, unable to articulate coherently any longer.

Severus Snape.

Written in ornate letters. And underneath his name was the phrase,

Order of Merlin, 1st Class.

He raised his eyes to meet Potter's, find out what this was. Perhaps a joke. A long-time joke that was coming to him, from yet another generation of Gryffindor for cruelties both real and imagined...

But Potter stared back at him. He was not laughing.

"What?" he whispered. "Potter, what- ?" but his mouth would not form the words. He had wanted to ask too much. What was this? Was it real? How in the world did Potter get it? Why in Merlin's name did it have his name (of all possibilities!) on it?

"I meant to give it to you for a long time, Snape. I am sorry that I haven't given it to you before." Harry began. "This whole thing actually started out as a joke," Harry laughed nervously. "They offered me an Order of Merlin years ago, and I didn't know how to refuse them. God knows I didn't deserve it. But the Ministry insisted, and the only way I could get them to refuse, or so I thought, was to order them to issue an Order of Merlin to you as well. So I did. I told them that I would only accept the award if you were issued one as well. I thought they would never go for it, but just in case they did, I wouldn't feel like an arse, being the only one to get one.

To my surprise, they agreed," Harry continued. "After that, an idea came to me. I would get the Ministry to offer you a full pardon. Because I thought, that if they could give Severus Snape, a Death Eater, an Order of Merlin, surely they could forgive the war crimes of the same man, one who remained faithful to the Order of the Phoenix?"

At the words "faithful," Snape choked. He turned away from scrutinizing the ornate medal in the palm of his hand. He didn't deserve it. He wasn't faithful...

Snape bent his head, suddenly uncomfortable with Potter's proximity as he had never been. What would the Golden Boy-Who-Lived know of being a faithless traitor who got innumerable people killed? Snape shook his head, unwilling to look at Harry Potter.

Harry went on.

"But proving your innocence to the Ministry was a task easier named than completed. They kept sending me all these scrolls, demanding information I had no idea about answering, in order to issue you a full pardon."

That Snape could imagine. The one thing the Ministry did unerringly was issue its inordinate amount of paperwork.

"I told myself that I could not give you the Order without the pardon. That it was incomplete, somehow."

Potter grew quiet, saying something else, but Snape hardly heard him.

Because he was still holding an Order of Merlin in his hands. First class.

Attributed to him.

"Pot..." but the usual form of address seemed inappropriate to Snape now, in lieu of what the boy had done for him. "Harry." He clutched his hand around the award, moved.

How does one say Thank You, after having one's greatest desire just handed to him, and asking nothing in return?

He had given up even the thought of ever obtaining it...

And Potter just comes out and... hands him what had been his greatest desire for the better part of many years?!

Snape sat there, incredible, as though all of his present convictions about Harry Potter were turned upside down.

Potter wasn't the person Snape thought him to be.

He didn't know what to think anymore.

Potter did it... for me?! Why the hell had he done it for me, of all people?

More to the point … what was he going to do now, now that he knew all of this about Potter?

He couldn't exactly go on as though he didn't know.

He didn't know very many people as honourable, duty-bound, as Potter. Such people were rare and to be treasured.

Strong friendships, long-lasting friendships, were made in instances like this, with individuals like Potter.

And Snape...

Snape had a weakness for people like that. He hadn't known too many people like Potter in his life.

Eyes traveled to the Boy-Who-Lived, pensive. Still incredulous, but now also studying the boy who was not at all what Snape had always thought him to be.

Potter had an odd expression on his face. No one looked at Snape like that...

He did not notice their nearing proximity until too late.

But by then, Potter leaned in until their shoulders touched, and kissed him.

Completely unexpected, Snape gasped in surprise into Potter's mouth!

And felt the boy go rigid against him.

Thwarted.

Thwarted, Potter shook his head, and smiled...

"I misinterpreted," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Sn-..."

Potter was pulling away from him.

Snape shot his hand out, and gripped Harry's, keeping him close.

Their eyes met.

The same uncertainty that Snape felt was mirrored in Potter's eyes.

What are we doing?

Snape pulled him back down. Harry sat.

He was still holding onto the boy's hand...

"How, Potter?" Snape asked, and his voice broke. He swallowed, uncomfortable. "How is it, that I was so completely wrong about you?"

Potter broke eye contact first.

He stared at their hands. Holding each other.

"You... you didn't want to know?" Potter offered after the silence around them stopped ringing.

Snape lifted Harry's chin with a finger. He always did prefer Harry to be looking at him...

"Show me," he whispered, coming to a hasty decision as their lips met. He did not gasp in surprise this time, ruining the moment and causing Potter to pull away.

And it was...

It was as if this was what was missing his whole life. He wondered why he and Potter have not been kissing all the time, as his hand cupped the back of Potter's head, keeping him near, and Potter!

Potter's fist wound in Snape's robes, pulling Snape closer...!

He acquiesced, all but sitting in Potter's lap now as they kept kissing, and he felt a well-known reaction originate in Potter's lap. A reaction that, if he were honest with himself, he shared.

A thrill of pleasure went through Snape and he shivered...

And opened his eyes.

Beautiful boy. No one had ever looked at Snape like that.

His own hand touched Potter's hair, not because it was soft or any such nonsense. Just that, in that moment, he realised that he enjoyed touching Potter, as he liked looking at Potter, talking to Potter.

He, Severus Snape, liked Harry Potter.

Will wonders ever cease?

On a whim, he trailed his fingers down the boy's face, cupping his cheek and holding him in place as they pulled apart, both out of breath and gasping, as Potter's green eyes looked into his own.

Potter shivered as their eyes met. What did THAT mean?

His hand closed around Potter's, bringing it to his lap. Holding.

Something hard met his fingers... Something that could be moved around...!

He blinked and the magic of the moment, the singly wonderful moment he had just shared with Potter, dissipated.

Potter's eyes went wide. "Why did you stop?"

But Snape was still fingering Harry's Bonding ring... Harry's hand lying in Snape's other hand.

Such things were not meant to be taken lightly. Nor forgotten.

Not when they contained as much power in them as Unbreakable Vows...

He tried to tell himself that what he was feeling was disappointment.

"I am always too late," Snape whispered softly, voice full of regret and sadness.

"Snape-! Wait!" Potter interrupted as the man pulled silently away from Harry and made to stand up.

With Seeker reflexes, Harry's hand caught Snape's wrist, pulling him back down into sitting position even as he pulled Snape's hand forward and kissed the back of it.

Snape's eyes went wide. "Potter... We can't-!"

But Potter was pulling on his hand, pulling Snape down lower, and, leaning in, Snape felt a clumsy kiss pressed to the corner of his mouth as though Potter were unsure about kissing Snape's cheek, like a friend, or on his mouth, like...

Like what?

Snape shook his head. Potter was married.

There was no Like. There was no Or. There was nothing for them to be, so long as Potter remained Bonded. And Snape somehow doubted that Potter will trade his marriage for the likes of Severus Snape.

And yet he wanted.

God damn it!

He still wanted Potter. He didn't know what, exactly. But he was fairly certain that, whatever this was, it was worth knowing further.

Damn it. NO!

Potter chose to marry his spouse. NOT Snape. He ought to remember that.

He looked Harry in the eyes now and remained firm.

"We can't do this," Snape whispered more confidently, wishing to motivate himself as well as convince Potter.

But Harry saw only Snape's eyes.

No one had ever looked at Harry like that.

As though Harry were Snape's very own means of salvation. Hurt, for himself or for Snape, he didn't know, Harry felt his eyes prickle.

Snape, seeing this, narrowed his eyes. Feigning a lack of concern. He couldn't deal with the fact that Potter actually looked heartbroken.

"Perhaps in another life, eh, Potter?" Snape smiled, and had to note that it was a wry smile, more bitterness than actual faith in the words he spoke.

He didn't wait to hear Harry's response. Didn't want to hear wishes voiced aloud that they had no business in desiring. So he turned away and headed upstairs to his bedroom.

A tear slipped down Snape's cheek, and he wiped at it angrily as the bedroom door closed behind him, not knowing that Harry was doing the exact same thing.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

When Harry came downstairs for breakfast the next morning, he found two bowls of porridge on the kitchen table – one half-eaten, and boasting a Snape, sitting behind the Daily Prophet and poking at it every so often with a spoon as he ate.

"Good Morning," Harry greeted the newspaper.

A mutter came from behind the newspaper. No acknowledgment followed.

Harry waited. "Snape?"

A black eye peered out at Harry from behind the printed press.

A stack of scrolls landed with a dull thud on the unoccupied corner of the kitchen table at Snape's right elbow.

"This is everything I have ever received from the Ministry concerning your pardon," Harry explained as he took his own place at the breakfast table, a steaming tea pot stood in the middle of the table, between them.

"If you can make any sense out of what they want, I want to hear about it," Harry told Snape seriously before bending down to his plate and starting to inhale his oatmeal.

He paused only to heap ten teaspoons of sugar onto his breakfast.

Snape could practically taste the sweetness from where he was sitting. He winced and tried not to remember just how close that mouth was to his, last night...

"It's under a warming charm, Potter," Snape warned, "so it might be a h—"

Harry did not acknowledge Snape's comment in any way, until his plate was empty.

"Sorry, no time," Harry answered semi-apologetically and Levitated his plate into the sink.

Then he Summoned a box of biscuits whose name Snape could not recall (just that it was sugar on top of sugar, and topped with sugar and countless chocolate layers, stacked on top of each other and organised by... colour, of all things), making him wince in sympathy as he saw Potter stuffing his mouth.

How Potter could stand so much sucrose at once was a mystery he would never uncover.

He had always eaten atrociously on the day that he played Quidditch.

But on the other hand... Every time Potter ate with such fervour, he would come back from the match victorious.

Snape wasn't worried about the outcome of the game this time around, either, as he watched Potter finish off half the tea pot on his own. He had found that the best way to predict the direction of the oncoming Quidditch match was to observe Potter's behaviour prior to the event of concern. The only match Potter lost was one before which he had eaten two kippers and fell off his broomstick.

And considering that Potter's lunch was going to be no less economical...

Snape's mouth curled. He would definitely watch this game. If only to watch Potter's eyes go round with surprise when Snape would provide him with the game's details he should have no way of knowing.

Potter was convinced that Snape despised Quidditch, and Snape was in no hurry to dispel this particular myth. It was too amusing.

While he was thus occupied, Potter had finished off the box of biscuits (unopened as of this morning!) and Banished his tea cup into the sink.

Then he refilled the teapot for Snape to enjoy and sent another box of biscuits sailing into his Quidditch satchel (Snape closed his eyes to avoid shuddering in revulsion - more sugar!).

"James wakes up around nine o'clock," Harry began. "I feed him anything he wants, so long as:" Harry ticked off a finger. "He must finish his entire portion." He ticked off another finger. "He has to eat everything in front of him. No playing favourites with the food groups." Another finger came down. "If I see him taking his time eating or playing with his food, his punishment is that he eats only this until he learns to show no preference for food one way or another." Another finger. "His portion is a quarter fraction of ours, unless he decides he wants more." Harry finished.

"I will do my best to see your stringent regime upheld, Potter." Snape nodded, a smirk on his lips.

He would love to see Potter himself tied up to a specific regime, especially after the breakfast that Potter had just consumed.

Except that he actually wanted to be able to predict with some measure of accuracy when Potter's team will come out on top in the Quidditch Leagues. He had made himself quite the little nest egg out of his Quidditch betting winnings.

And he would prefer to keep augmenting it.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

He had only made a dent of three in deciphering the Ministry scrolls that Potter left him when he saw a dark head poke itself into the sitting room.

James was standing in the entrance, looking around the sitting room. It occurred to Snape that James was expecting to find his father, hiding behind the curtains perhaps, but had come face-to-face with Snape instead.

Setting the scroll aside with no small measure of relief (for no task was as tedious as attempting to translate a language known as Bureaucracy), Snape stood up and came over to where James was standing, looking lost.

"Good Morning," he greeted the boy, lowering himself to one knee, until they were face-to-face.

"G' mo'ning," James parroted, looking at Snape.

"Your father has a Quidditch game today," Snape began, extending his arms to the boy to pick him up. "That means that you will spend today with me. If you are a good boy, I will let you watch your father's Quidditch game. How does that sound?"

James smiled. "I like Ki-ddich."

Of course you do, Snape thought unflatteringly.

"Then let's get you dressed up. Today's breakfast is oatmeal."

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

Breakfast went well. James was much more temperate with the sweets-adding that his father, for which Snape was grateful. Watching Potter consume sugar was enough to make his own teeth hurt.

But no. Everything went well from the moment he had sat James down in his high-chair and set the oatmeal in front of him.

"Eat!" he commanded imperiously and watched James' eyes glaze over as he automatically picked up his spoon.

Not a drop went astray. The boy even licked his plate clean. Albeit the plate had to be Repaired because the boy dropped it in the heat of his exertions.

Snape loved obedient children.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

Snape needed literature, if he were to have any hope at all of making sense of those scrolls.

Unfortunately, the only library where he could walk into, unimpeded, was at Hogwarts.

Because he was familiar with the wards.

And so, after donning a Glamour to avoid being recognised, that is where he and James have found himself.

At first, James showed reluctance to accompany Snape. He showed zero recognition for Snape in his new disguise and showed no inclination to want to go anywhere with a complete stranger. His lower lip began to tremble just a bit too ominously.

Snape thought of a solution to that right away.

"Come!" he barked at the small boy, and James' eyes became vacant, after which he obediently raised his arms to be picked up by Snape, after which Snape set him in his pram and they were on their way.

He had made sure that his glamour bore a passing resemblance to the boy, to arouse no unnecessary suspicion.

He also filled James' drinking bottle with tea laced with mild sleeping potion.

That is why James was currently sleeping in his pram while Snape was walking across the Hogwarts grounds, hidden beneath a Notice-Me-Not charm, James' pram floating along in front of him.

He took the portrait shortcut up to the library, calmly voicing the password (Libraries Liberate).

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

After thirty minutes in the restriction section, James quietly sleeping next to him, Snape knew that he would be taking home a substantial portion of the tomes entitled A Complete Guide to the Ministry Regulations, Past and Present.

It was quite lucky that the tomes could be duplicated with the Gemini charm. All Ministry books were equipped thus, because all magicalfolk needed to study these books at some point in their lives.

He applied the charm to forty of the fifty tomes and set them, shrunk, inside his robes pocket while the originals returned to the shelves with a spell.

James woke up when Snape was copying the forty-seventh book.

Looked around curiously.

Didn't see Snape.

And panicked.

Just a few more minutes, you brat, Snape lamented as he made his way back to the pram and picked James up before the boy threw a crying fit.

Seeing Snape, James decided against crying (but he found that he quite liked the idea of suckling at Snape's robes sleeve) as his head dropped to Snape's shoulder and a thumb went into his mouth.

But at least he was quiet, for which the ex-Headmaster was immeasurably grateful.

Quickly copying the rest of the tomes, he stowed them away with the rest of the copies while the last ten books obediently flew back to the shelves under the onslaught of Snape's wand.

On a whim, he made a copy of Categorising Your Accomplishments: Successfully Applying for an Order of Merlin. Just in case, he told himself.

The pram was shrunk and stowed away in a superficial robes pocket, as Snape exited the library, and Hogwarts, little James in his arms.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

He had no desire to revisit those scrolls (at all, if he could help it), so it was rather fortunate that James had woken up when he did.

Even if he did not see it that way from the start.

Now, safely ensconced in his home, the book occupying the space underneath the table (for on top was where the scrolls were strewn about, in order of comprehensibility), Snape changed out of his formal robes (for going outside) and was slowly undressing James when an idea visited him.

The boy had behaved surprisingly well when he had to, back in Hogwarts, so Snape decided to reward him.

He re-dressed James into flying robes and donned simple grey robes, himself – good for working around the house, or, flying around, as it were.

"Do you wish to fly with me on my old, rickety broom – that would collapse underneath us at the slightest wind and cause our imminent demise, bypassing horrendous injury entirely. Or," he asked James when they were in the broom shed, "or take your father's broom?" He offered James the magnanimous alternative.

"Or," James piped up.

If Potter warded his broomstick against usage by others, Snape was fairly certain that he could bypass the wards if James were sitting astride with him. Blood being thicker than water, and all that.

"Good man," Snape complimented the boy, his mouth curving into a smile. He had long wondered what Potter's broomstick felt like, in the air. If need be, he could sell the experience as an anonymous memoir to a Famous Sightings magazine.

He'd keep the really interesting charms quiet, of course. Should Potter prove himself to have been creative with his broomstick, that is. All the better to adopt the suggestions for himself. He could always focus on the flying experience itself – that alone could be worth a few galleons.

Some of those magazines pay extremely well for anything related to Harry Potter.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

The flying was uneventful, but very much fun, Snape had to admit.

A sticking charm to the seat of James' pants kept him from falling off the broomstick, so Snape did not have to worry that the boy will lose his balance and plummet to his death, even when James insisted on sticking his arms out from his sides, mimicking an airplane.

Snape wasn't concerned even when James decided he wanted to be the one to steer the broom. Snape found that James was still too young to complete two tasks at the same time, so the broomstick did not fly very fast as James focused entirely on steering. This too, suited Snape just fine.

In face, finding himself quite surprised to be smiling as James flew them around the territory of their home, Snape did not realise, until now, just how much fun he could have with a James Potter.

That suited him just fine as well, came the realisation as they landed and Snape dismantled the sticking charm.

James promptly ran in the direction of the broomstick shed, and came flying back to Snape on his toy broomstick.

The boy laughed as he jumped just out of Snape's reach, and Snape understood.

He wants me to chase him, Snape realised.

He pointed his broomstick in James's direction.

And was off, James' laughter ringing in his ears as he attempted to get away from Snape's long arms.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

James ate twice his appointed portion during lunch time.

Without Snape having to raise voice or wand to the boy.

After lunch, Snape took the boy upstairs and changed him into his sleeping clothes before placing him in his bed.

At first James disagreed with Snape's assessment of Sleep Time.

He was persuaded otherwise halfway through Babbity Rabbity and her Cackling Stump.

Snape privately agreed. It really was the least engaging of Beedle's tales.

Precisely the reason he chose to read this particular tale at this time as he closed the fairy tales book and set it on the night table.

He peered in at James. The boy was breathing evenly, asleep.

Snape covered James with a quilt before quietly exiting, closing the door behind him.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

Two hours into his work, and Snape dropped the last Ministry-allocated scroll on the table before him and closed his eyes, leaning back on the couch.

An Incendio warmed the atmosphere around him and served as a distraction from the pointless task ahead of him.

He had just finished going through all of the scrolls. All of them.

Watching the flames flicker in the fireplace gave him a sense of peace as Snape attempted to set thoughts together on the best course of action.

The verdict was not terribly disheartening. And yet...

First off, it was quite clear to him that he would not be granted a full pardon from the Ministry. There were too many clauses against him, clauses that he had no hope to explain.

He could lie, of course, but that would only work until Veritaserum was brought out. And what would be revealed under Veritaserum, Snape has no way of explaining.

To be blunt, there was a very specific period of time when Severus Snape had been a Death Eater without any mitigating circumstances like working against the Dark Lord. It is this period that gave Snape pause in even pursuing a Ministry-sanctioned pardon for his war efforts.

He wouldn't be pardoned.

And even while he hadn't tortured anybody, he still committed himself quite thoroughly to a stay in Azkaban.

He had used Imperius.

And... he had killed.

If all of this was to be brought to life, the only way he could avoid a stay in Azkaban was to be dead.

The best that he could hope for, he had already been granted, it seems – an Order of Merlin for his latter efforts working with the Order of the Phoenix to bring the Dark Lord down...

But he had to remain dead or face the consequences of becoming a Death Eater and all the crimes that this entailed.

Damn it all.

The myriad of forms that Potter gave him to peruse found themselves flying up to his bedroom and into the trunk that he kept in order to store items that had no business being visible.

One by one, every sheet he had written, everything that contained his personal touch and could be used to deliver his magical signature, flew into the gaping Floo, where they were promptly relegated to a swift death in the flames.

He could not afford to leave any scrolls, detailing his life, lying around.

They could be traced to him. And with that, the identification of him being alive to write said details about his life during a period of life in which he is supposed to be deceased.

Deceased.

Damn it again.

He buried his face in his hands.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Snape set the crystal ball down on the table in front of the fireplace.

Then he placed a single black hair on top of it, and intoned a very specific spell.

The hair seemed to dissolve into the surface of the glass, and, a moment later, Snape could see an image form inside the crystal ball.

He took out his wand and pointed it at the crystal ball.

"Engorgio!" the crystal ball obediently enlarged to twice its size, but that was apparently not good enough for Snape, who waved his wand again and again, until the crystal ball was as tall as the fireplace.

And only then, satisfied, did he turn around and push the couch away several feet, before sitting down and looking up at the... screen.

There was no fog. No lack of clarity from the attempts of trying to see the future.

Because this was the present.

And the only thing Snape did was set the image to attune to Harry Potter's magical signature, so that he could watch the Quidditch match semi-final.

The match had not yet begun, so Snape went into the kitchen and put the kettle on.

Then he checked on James.

The boy was awake, but was lying down and admiring a stuffed vulture that was situated at the head of his bed.

Seeing Snape no longer surprised James.

"Let's get you changed," Snape told the boy matter-of-factually in lieu of a greeting, "And then we can watch the game."

"Ga-ym?" James repeated.

Snape nodded. "Yes. Quidditch game. You do want to watch your father play?" He had picked James up and laid him down on the bed, undressing the boy.

"Kwi-dditch. Kwi-dditch." James clapped his hands together, excited.

Snape did not answer. Soon James was naked, and Snape had to dress him before the boy caught cold, so he let James natter on in the language of small children everywhere while he dressed James in fresh clothes.

Then they went downstairs to watch the game.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

If Snape had wondered how to keep Potter's son entertained and quiet for the duration of an important undertaking, he stopped wondering this as soon as James saw the Quidditch game.

Interested. Mesmerised. More importantly, the boy was quiet.

For as long as Snape had known the boy, he had known James to be an exciteable child. The only way to get him quiet was to get him exhausted to the point of falling asleep, emphasis on falling.

This, however, exceeded all of Snape's expectations.

It was outstanding.

Setting a tea tray down beside the arm of the couch, Snape sat down and observed the boy out of the corner of his eye. James, covered up with a blanket to keep warm, held a bottle of lukewarm, sugared tea (with milk!) in his hands as he followed the movements of the chasers on the screen.

Snape turned back to the screen.

One of Potter's teammates was getting a yellow card from the referee for aggressive behaviour and injuring another player.

Rubbish. There was one in every game.

He wanted them to show Potter.

Then he noticed a greyish speck fly out from under the referee's arm, in the distance, followed by a familiar, tousle-haired form...

"James," Snape made the screen pause and sent a beam of light from his wand to illuminate the spot. "See that?" He moved the beam of light to hit next to the speck, illuminating it but not obscuring it, to emphasize.

James stood up and touched the screen with his finger. He looked back at Snape.

"I believe that's the Snitch, James." Snape explained. He moved the pointer over an inch. "And I believe that," he added, "is your father, very far away (that's why he looks so very small and you can't see his face), who is the only one who saw the Snitch. Do you know what happens when somebody catches the Snitch?" Snape made a grabbing motion with his hand to emphasize catching a tiny fluttering ball.

James clapped his hands and smiled. "Yes!" he exclaimed.

So, this was not his first time watching a Quidditch game...

"The game is over. And who catches the Snitch, wins the game for the team."

He resumed the play.

At this point, the scores were low, so whoever caught the Snitch at this stage, really would win the game for their team.

He heard the commentators discussing the advantages of an all men's Quidditch league over an all women's and took the time to pour himself more tea.

He looked up only when he felt the couch bouncing.

James was jumping up on the couch – and pointing to the top corner of the screen when he was high up.

Snape, angry that the boy was going to make him spill his tea, was about to berate James for his behaviour, when he saw what James was pointing to.

The boy saw the Snitch.

And when Snape looked, he saw, that, Harry, saw the Snitch as well.

Unfortunately, so must have the opposing team's Beater. Snape hadn't seen him until it was too late, however.

Just as Harry was reaching to grab the Snitch,

James let out a cry. Snape too, thought that Potter would not escape unscathed. At the very least a dislocated hand, and he would be unable to finish the match...

Imagine his surprise when Potter pulled his hand out of the Bludger's trajectory at the last minute... and moved his broomstick into a dive to the left of the Snitch's trajectory.

What the fuck?

Potter would clearly miss the Snitch now (and Snape would lose the current round of betting over at the Quidditch game track).

All because the Snitch would be passing in between the second and third goal posts, and Potter... Potter would collide with his team's Keeper...

Snape saw the young man's eyes widen in surprise as he saw Potter barreling straight at him...

Making a sweeping motion with his hand...

And saw the... the Snitch land perfectly into Potter's hand (how is this possible?) just as the Keeper got out of the way in the last possible moment to avoid Potter.

Potter was not so lucky.

He collided with the first goal post, and fell off, plummeting down...

Oh No!

If Potter was unconscious, this was going to end badly.

Very badly.

Badly in a way that no one is going to care about the finals match, if something were to happen to Potter...

Hearing James whimper, Snape's head shot up and, forgetting the game, he took the boy up in his arms, comforting him.

Not hearing the commentary over the sounds of James crying, but seeing, over James' turned away head, a broomstick that Snape would bet anything belonged to Potter lunge suddenly upwards as somebody somersaulted over the head of the broom through the air, and, finishing the somersault on the ground to land in a half-kneeling position, one knee on the ground...

Snape saw Potter raise his fist in the air and saw a pair of fluttering golden wings.

Potter caught the Snitch!

How in HELL had Potter been able to do that?

Snape clearly saw him veering AWAY from the path of the Snitch, only to see Potter, excited and victorious, pumping his fist in the air, A FIST THAT CONTAINED THE SNITCH!

He would need to watch the game again. Carefully.

Potter was not to be taken lightly.

Then he remembered the huddling child in his arms.

"James?" he said softly somewhere near the boy's ear. He turned the boy around to the screen. "Look!"

James looked up at the screen, still sniffling.

Face-to-face with his father.

"Your father caught the Snitch, James," Snape told the boy. "It's still in his hand. See?" He pointed to the hand that held the golden ball, now only weakly fluttering in Potter's fist. "Your father won the game..."

It was amazing how fast those tears dried from those cheeks.

A moment ago James had been sniffling...

"Da!" James smiled, looking at his father with shining eyes.

Potter smiled back, answering questions from the first reporter who made it down to the field already, nattering on about wind velocity, direction, and the latest team practise sessions, explaining how there was really nothing to worry about, it was all under control...

All Snape could think of was that Potter was astoundingly lucky.

Unbelievably so.

With luck like that, it was amazing that the Dark Lord simply not have dropped dead, seven years ago.

He made another mental note to himself to find out just what were those newly refined team maneuvres, and he needed something strong to enable the process.

Tea works wonders.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

James was fed just in time for supper, but he refused to settle down enough to go to sleep.

Snape wondered if he let the boy sleep too long during the day – and that was at the core of the problem now.

Still, needs must. And James needed to be asleep now, because he had plans.

Settling James down in bed, Snape sat nearby and took up the most boring book he knew.

Fantastic Beasts and where to Find Them.

Starting with the Foreword by Albus Dumbledore. No one who didn't know who Albus was could hope to sit through something as boring without falling right to sleep.

The spine of the book crackled as Snape opened it and smoothed the page down before he began reading.

"_I was deeply honored_," Snape intoned, voice slow and deliberately soft, his tone a monotone.

..._when Newt Scamander asked me to write the foreword for this very special edition of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Newt's masterpiece has been an approved textbook at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry ever since its publication and must take a substantial amount of credit for our students' consistently high results in Care of Magical Creatures examinations_–

He checked on James out of the corner of his eye. The boy was looking up at the ceiling, twiddling his thumbs.

Not asleep yet...?

If he'd not been looking, he would have missed it. James yawned.

Snape smirked and continued reading.

- _It is not a book to be confined to the classroom. No wizarding household is complete without a copy of Fantastic Beasts, well thumbed by the generations who have riffled its pages in search of the best way to rid the lawn of Horklumps, interpret the mournful cries of the Augurey or cure their pet Puffskein of drinking out of the toilet_.

_This edition, however, has a loftier purpose than the instruction of the Wizarding community_.

With a covert look at James, Snape had to agree.

_This edition of Fantastic Beasts will be sold at Flourish and Blott_s.

_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them represents the fruit of many years' travel and research. I look back across the years to the seven-year-old wizard who spent hours in his bedroom dismembering Horklumps and I envy him the journeys to come: from darkest jungle to brightest desert, from mountain peak to marshy bog, that grubby Horklump-encrusted boy would track, as he grew up, the beasts described in the following pages_...

James was asleep.

Snape smiled as he closed the door.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

Re-watching the game, Snape realised what he had missed the first time: he had been wrong about the original path of the Snitch. Usually, of course, it would be impossible to predict, but in a few exceptional cases, those who know Quidditch are able to limit the Snitch's trajectory down to a few possibilities. Sometimes, this is enough to catch the Snitch before the enemy Seeker.

Moving the objective piece around, Snape was able to see that the Snitch could not possibly have continued the path he had originally thought it would. This is what saved Potter from that final bludger – while it continued in the straight path, the Snitch curved away, with Potter following, no wiser that he nearly lost his hand.

Snape smiled.

So it wasn't a case of blind luck being on Potter's side.

He had to be grateful. It was better than being jealous of Potter's infernal, last-minute luck.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

When Potter returned, Snape was still not settling in for the night.

He told himself that he just wanted to enjoy the game one more time, and that it had nothing to do with the identity of the Seeker...

It didn't work.

He tried to convince himself that he wanted to make sure that the game contained no elements against which his winnings were placed.

But he already knew that he did not write in any contradictory statements into the betting ticket.

Potter returned at half past ten, to find Snape replaying his favourite moments of the match.

After disrobing his outer garments, Potter settled beside Snape, and, calm as anything, reached over for the teapot, warming it with a charm. Then he Summoned his cup and poured himself a healthy measure of tea and drank deeply, eyes inside the screen.

"Are you hungry?" Snape asked quietly. "James and I already had our supper..."

Harry shook his head. "Celebrated with the team a bit, afterwards. Tonnes of food."

"Why didn't you stay longer and enjoy your victory?" He had fully expected Potter to do just that. The finals game was not tomorrow. Sleep deprivation before the last game of the tournament was not an issue.

"I'd be dragging the team down," Harry laughed. "I don't fit their profile."

Snape frowned at that. "You are the best Seeker the team has had in ages. What profile are you talking about not fitting? If it weren't for you, they wouldn't be in the finals."

Neither of them were watching the Quidditch play now.

"I am married, Snape," Harry laughed. "Single wizards don't like partying with married teammates. It drags down their enjoyment when we refuse to party until sunrise because we have children at home, and wives who would skin us alive unless we come home right away..."

"Your wife does not seem to be currently present, Potter," Snape commented.

"I know James' sleeping schedule. I wouldn't feel right not being home to take care of him." Harry looked at Snape seriously for the first time this evening. "Thanks for taking him today. I really appreciate it."

Snape waved off the praise. "You asked me to. I had no other plans today. It worked out rather well for the three of us..."

They settled back to watch the game, Snape pouring himself a cup of tea as Potter rewound the play.

The fire had gone down and Harry respelled it with an Incendio.

Potter sat back down and winced.

Odd, Snape thought but gave no further note of it as the game resumed.

"So, when is the finals game?" Snape asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"What?" Harry asked, rubbing his shoulder distractedly. "The finals? Oh! In two days."

"I'm not playing."

WHAT?

"Why aren't you?" Snape asked quietly.

"The Captain was frightened at my game," Harry said much too evenly. "Said he thought I was a goner for sure when I collided with that post. So now I'm to take it easy until the next season begins."

Why was Potter speaking so calmly about this? Sure, it was end of the season, but he had essentially just said that he will not be playing in the most important game of the season!

He suddenly remembered Potter's wince as he reached over Snape for the tea.

"Was there a reason for your Team Captain to be concerned?" Snape asked quietly.

"No," Harry answered quickly. Too quickly. Then, "Well, maybe..."

"Maybe?" Snape echoed.

He reached over and attempted to pull his sweater off.

Gave up.

Took out his wand and ripped the sweater down the middle, taking it off as one would a jacket.

A large bruise was purpling over Potter's sternum. Tendrils of congealing blood beneath the skin visible over his ribs...

Potter was an idiot.

"Why didn't you get this Healed when your match was over?" Snape asked, gaze boring into Harry.

"There is no shortage of mediwizards on the pitch..."

"I dunno. It only started hurting a couple hours ago."

A COUPLE of hours ago?

"But it's alright. It only hurts when I change positions," Potter explained quickly.

"Potter, you couldn't even remove your clothes without shredding them off you," Snape reminded him. His voice had gone a tone quieter, as thought holding himself back from reminding Harry of what should be obvious.

"I got them off, though, didn't I?" Harry brushed him off. "I'm good with the Reparo charm. It's alright."

Snape sincerely doubted that it was all right.

"You're seeing a mediwizard tomorrow," Snape told him, subdued.

"No, I'm not," Harry replied. "It's just a flesh wound. I've gotten my share of Quidditch injuries."

Of that, Snape had no doubt.

"Just cast a general Healing spell," Harry told him after a moment of thought.

That's better.

"Do you know any, Potter?"

The boy shook his head.

"And you a Quidditch player..." Snape ts-tsked and his face showed what he thought of that revelation.

"Alright. Then you will allow me to make sure you are alright," he countered. "Do you realise how tedious your death notice will be, should you ignore my warning?" Snape quoted. "Boy-Who-Lived is dead. Tedious enough for you?"

"Wait here," he commanded and left the room.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

Occupying his, Snape's bed, Potter had the gall to be recalcitrant.

He giggled.

Snape frowned. "Stay still, Potter."

"You're tickling me."

"It's merely a diagnostic spell." Snape completed moving his wand over Harry's naked chest.

"Nothing is broken," he informed the Boy-Who-Lived. "But your ribs are bleeding into your torso."

"So I was right," Harry piped up. "This really is nothing that a good night's sleep won't cure."

"If you don't bleed to death in your sleep," Snape offered ominously.

He waited until he saw the seriousness of his words sink into Potter's underused brain, before performing a Healing spell.

They both watched the bruise slowly fade from Harry's chest.

"My hero," Potter joked and wrapped his arms around Snape.

"Go to bed, Potter," Snape, clearly uncomfortable, disentangled himself from the Boy-Who-Lived. "Now that we both know you won't die in your sleep any longer..."

Harry put a finger to Snape's lips, quieting him.

"There is another reason I came home earlier than you expected me," he told the man.

"And what reason is that?" Snape asked matter-of-factually, taking Harry's hand off his mouth. But his heart skipped a beat...

"You," Harry said against Snape's mouth as he leaned in and kissed Snape.

Feeling Potter's mouth on his... desirable, but at the same time it filled Snape with a sense of bitterness. He realised that the feeling he so despised was... Guilt. He pulled away from Potter's mouth, and, when Potter attempted to kiss Snape again, covered the boy's mouth with the tips of his fingers.

"Don't, Potter," Snape told him softly, in a voice filled with sadness and quiet certainty. "We cannot. Remember that you are married."

He should. If anything, Harry had no right not to remember that. He certainly loved James enough to always keep in mind just where he came from.

It's just that this was... different. With Snape, things were just... well... yes. Different. It was as though, from the moment Snape had kissed him, inconsolable and heartbroken, something changed within Harry.

From that moment on, Harry wanted to kiss Snape. Not because he wasn't married to another, not because it would be considered cheating... Harry could never dishonour Snape that way.

Simply put, Snape's proximity overshadowed everything else in his life. He forgot that he was Harry Potter, the famous Boy-Who-Lived, the one who brought about Voldemort's downfall and then got married at the first available opportunity because he was so certain that Snape was dead.

A lump formed in his throat. He did not want to remember. But still memory resurfaced. Of Harry, hidden from Voldemort by a few crates... and Voldemort, talking to Snape in a displeased manner that lead to, what Harry was so certain of at the time, to be Snape's death. Snape lost a lot of blood that night. Harry couldn't think straight.

It didn't help that the memories that Hermione had somehow managed to get out of Snape's dying body told Harry that he had been completely wrong about the man. Unfairly wrong towards the man who had saved Harry's life.

More than once.

And oh how Harry insisted on coming down on Snape, claiming the man hated him and wanted him dead and was, in fact, worse than Voldemort.

His eyes burned and he blinked, fearing Snape's reaction if the man witnessed Harry crying his eyes out over the man himself.

Because Harry could not deal with the guilt of being so completely wrong about Snape.

Which, if he were honest with himself, was his motivation for clearing Snape's name before the Ministry for Magic, for going before the Minister himself and refusing his own Order of Merlin if Snape were to be given no honours, not even post-humously...

Then he closed off his heart and mind and got married to a nice girl.

Because without Snape around, she really was the only available candidate.

Tears fell, burning and unimpeded, and leaving wet and undeniable trails down his cheeks.

He didn't enjoy the thought of Snape being dead.

Humiliated, he did not dare to raise his eyes. Snape was right. Harry was married. And not to Snape. (A part of Harry's mind wondered if that were possible, to be married to Snape...)

But he wanted. Snape. To kiss Snape. To... Yes. He even wanted to make love to Snape. He didn't know if that were possible, because after Snape's death he even considered the likelihood... but with Snape alive, yes, yes, Harry certainly did want that.

Two hands touched the sides of Harry's face, tilting it until green eyes met black.

"Why?" Snape whispered, caressing the sides of Harry's face almost unconsciously with his thumbs. Harry shivered. How could Snape ask that? It was quite obvious...

"Because," he whispered. "Just... Because." And his mouth covered Snape's again, biting at Snape's lower lip, hard enough to draw blood perhaps, but Harry did not care... Not in the least when Snape's lips parted and Harry's tongue met Snape's as they continued to kiss and all Harry wanted was to possess Snape, their mouths becoming one, and Harry's hands going to Snape's robes, attempting to find and undo the fastenings.

It wasn't anything to do with being married in the least. Because if Snape didn't matter to him, Harry could easily stay away.

This wasn't about what Harry wanted. It was about what Harry needed.

Because Harry needed Snape.

He would never tell Snape this, of course, Harry thought wildly as he disentangled from their kiss and reached his hands underneath Snape's shirt, freeing it from his trousers, wanting to touch Snape skin-to-skin, and moaning deliciously into Snape's mouth as his hands found the bony torso of the previous Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Potter kicked off his trousers and pushed his groin against Snape's thigh, an unmistakeable erection tenting his pants.

Snape's shirt followed the same trajectory.

Snape's trousers and pants came next – landing somewhere on the floor, in the proximity of the hearth.

Snape growled and pushed, making Harry topple onto the bed, with Snape leaning over him. Snape ran his hands over Potter's smooth, bare torso, kissing the indentation near the clavicle and making Harry tremble as he kissed his way down the boy's torso, sucking first on one pale nipple and then the other.

"Want you..." Potter moaned. "Oh god..."

Snape seemed to get the message – taking his own and Harry's erections in hand, he squeezed in tandem, setting a rhythm. Harry nearly mewled in pleasure.

Snape's hands on him... stroking and pulling...

Harry's erection became unbearably constricted. He had never been so hard in all his life, and here he was, with Snape, almost near the breaking point, Snape's moans bringing him closer to the edge.

Harry realised that he could come just like this, if Snape simply opened his mouth and talked to him...

He could think about nothing but Snape, focus on nothing but Snape all day. Just wanting to return home and tell Snape, ask Snape... beg Snape, if necessary, to reconsider a relationship with him.

It was why he played terribly as Seeker today, and the Captain replaced him for the final match of the season... Because all the time searching out the Snitch, Harry's mind was frantically searching for Snape, to find a way to convince Snape, that they belonged together, and not to brush Harry off as just an irksome young adult old enough to be Snape's son...

These thoughts, swirling in his head, were the reason he had failed to avoid those goal posts at the very last minute and nearly got himself killed.

The Boy-Who-Lived nearly died today. Over the traitorous Death Eater Severus Snape, who had claimed to despise the saviour of the Wizarding World for longer than said boy saviour had even been alive...

And Harry didn't care. Because now it didn't feel as though Snape wanted Harry to get out of his life. Clutching at Harry like a lifeline and trembling in tandem to his hand, working them closer and closer to...

Oh no. There was no way that Snape could fake this interest in Harry.

"Because," Snape whispered against Harry's mouth, his own would have curled in a wicked smirk if Snape had had control of his faculties. He was mimicking the boy's own statement not a moment ago as he covered Potter's mouth with his own, making the boy moan into Snape's mouth.

He growled and bit at Potter's neck, making the boy wrap his legs around Snape's waist and... and...

"Yes..." Potter hissed, eyes closed in pleasure, continuing to hump Snape for all he was worth before his eyes glazed over and he came, came, and came, in sticky white pulses that trailed down Snape's thigh.

It took an entire moment before Potter dared to meet his gaze.

"Sorry, I-" he reached over and, pulling Snape down, reversed their positions until he was sitting astride Snape's legs.

With fingertips still trembling from orgasm, and swallowed the head of Snape's proud, leaking, erection in his mouth. He tasted so good... So very...

Warm, wet channel, sucking at him... Getting tighter... How in Merlin's name did Potter do that?

He doubted Potter knew what he was doing to him... what he wanted right now was to...

Snape moaned, attempting to pull away from Potter, because he was going to come within a half a second of this, if Potter didn't stop...

Potter didn't stop.

Snape came into the tight, wet heat of Potter's mouth.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

Afterward, he pulled Harry on top of him and they lay like that, catching their breath.

Harry's arms went around Snape, warm and comfortable, and Snape wanted nothing more than to fall asleep like that, and sleep until the morning.

But first they'd better...

"Cleaning charm," he muttered into Potter's hair and the boy obediently but lazily lifted up (unwilling to part from Snape as much as Snape was unwilling to part from him) as they both felt around for their wands.

Snape found his first.

Abstergo! Snape's wordless spell washed over them both, eliminating all physical traces of their mutual wanking session.

Harry looked at Snape over the expanse of Snape's bed.

"Should I..." Harry started, oddly uncertain all of a sudden. He looked out of place as he stood by Snape's bed, holding his wand in hands that were suddenly awkward.

Snape looked back at him. "Should you what?"

"Should I leave?" Potter asked.

Snape's eyebrows shot together. "Do you wish to leave?"

Potter shook his head.

"It's late, Potter. You can sleep here tonight. We'll sort this out in the morning."

And he threw back a corner of the bedding, inviting Harry to crawl in beside him.

Giving Snape a crooked smile, Harry crawled into the bed. His arms came around Snape and pulled him closer, until Snape was sleeping on Harry's shoulder.

It was the first time that Snape had ever found himself in his bed, in such a position.

But he fell asleep only after he wrapped his arms around Harry as Harry's fingers carded through his hair.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

Contrary to popular belief, Severus Snape was not in the habit of throwing people, with whom he had had pleasing sex, out of his bed.

And, pleasing or not, he just couldn't bring himself to awaken Potter and send him stumbling off to his own room in the middle of the night.

Besides, Potter had willingly gotten up in the middle of the night when they heard James fussing in the next room. He came back to Snape, though, and together they slept until the early recesses of the morning.

Snape woke up first.

Reaching for his wand, he Summoned his yesterday's robes (that Potter had so unceremoniously rid Snape of in the midst of their love-making) and soundlessly made his way towards the loo.

After washing and setting his clothing to rights, he exited, and, with a last glance over towards the bed (Potter was still sleeping – he knew it was much too early for Potter to be awake), Snape went down to the kitchen, where he made himself a cup of strong, black tea.

Well.

Sex with Potter was by far the best sex Snape had ever had. If they had done it years ago, Snape would have proposed on the spot after a night like the one they had.

His cock twitched in his pants at the memory of last night, and Snape had to make an effort to stop thinking inappropriate thoughts. Or he wouldn't be able to leave the house for a long, long time...

But first things first.

Donning over robes, Snape left the home that he shared with Potter and Apparated right off the porch to the Quidditch Betting Arena.

His winnings were satisfactory. He was even asked if he would be betting on the last game of the season.

Of course. Because wizards who earned regular winnings at the arena were assumed to be incorrigible gamblers and would stop at nothing at the thought of one more bet.

Snape was a bit of a black sheep where Quidditch was concerned.

"No, thank you," he said politely to the man in front of him. "I have heard rumours that Harry Potter will not take part in the coming game, and so, regrettably, I will not place any more bets this season."

The man's eyes went wide. No one was supposed to be privy to such information. Yet. Snape hoped that sharing small tidbits like this would get him good relations with the man whose task it was to accept bets. If nothing else, perhaps Snape could avoid being cheated by the workers of such an establishment when they faced a lack of desire to pay winnings to those who earned them...

Also, this was the way to get out of placing any more galleons on the line. Make yourself seem like just another vapid Quidditch lover (albeit one with a bit of foreknowledge, at times), whose main attraction to the game was watching the hero of the Wizarding World.

It made you appear idiotic and shallow, not shrewd and money-loving. Because intelligence was not valued around here. Intelligent wizards cost the arena money. Best to pretend that all your winnings were a matter of luck, and one was not in the habit of planning one's next move. Then they smiled at you and allowed you to place high-risk bets and win without anyone being the wiser that your chances were better than the next wizard's.

One more stop, he told himself.

Severus Snape died in the Final Battle. He no longer had an account with Gringott's.

It didn't matter. Potions Master, Defense Master, and, later on, Headmaster Snape, did not have nearly the small fortune that the latest incarnation of Snape had accumulated when left to his own devices. No big loss.

All this meant was that Snape still kept a Gringott's account, but under a different name.

As usual, he deposited half his winnings. The other half would be kept closer to heart, so to say, physical moneys, in case he faced an emergency that did not wait a trip to the Bank.

He eyed the shining galleons in his account with nostalgia. How he wanted to spend it all on his only child, buying frivolous, ridiculous items, that told his daughter nothing except that her father had funds, and he would prefer to spend them all on her, down to the last knut, and not on a glass of firewhisky in the local pub.

Snape quit drinking when his daughter was born. He never was much of a drinker to begin with (Snape frowned at the unpleasant memories of his alcoholic father), so it was rather easy. Besides, the hardest task he faced was the lack of any extra sickles when Aria was born – a fact that Alison did not fail to remind him of.

She did not know about his little nest egg, or she wold have gone to the Ministry years ago, relishing a victory of stripping him bare and taking everything in the supposed name of Child Support. The fact that she thought him the owner of solely the clothes on his back, while frustrating her, was also the reason she kept quiet regarding his whereabouts. Revelation would get her nothing from a presumably dirt-poor, no-good husband of hers.

Closing his vault, he set back in the carriage as the goblin started moving them back up to the surface. An odd thought suddenly surfaced in Snape's brain...

If only he and Potter were of different genders... would they have gotten together years ago...?

And if so, would Aria, and James, too, he supposed, have now been their mutual children?

His heart thudded an extra beat inside his rib cage. He liked the thought of it.

All of his current problems could be avoided... if only he had made that choice with Potter first.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

He Apparated home to quite the surprise.

Setting his cloak on the coat rack, the smell of breakfast assaulted him. That only meant one thing...

Potter was cooking for them. Snape wondered why.

He entered the kitchen to see father and son sitting at the kitchen table, side by side, sunlight playing on the dining table by reflecting off the plates and cups.

The Boy-Who-Lived was teaching his son to eat a soft-boiled egg right out of the shell, by removing only the top portion of the shell, and, after salting the inside, to put a tea spoon inside and bring the contents it came up with to his mouth and swallow.

Snape had to smile at the image of little James, tongue peeking out from between his lips, attempting to balance an egg in one hand (it was as big as his entire fist!) as the other attempted to get inside the shell with a tiny spoon.

A couple of times he lost his balance and the egg flew out of his hands, but Harry just Summoned the egg back and gave it to his son.

On one such attempt, he was handing the egg back as his head came up and he caught sight of Snape, standing in the doorway.

"Erm... Good morning," Potter greeted, his cheeks flushing as his eyes met Snape's. "Made breakfast for all of us. Yours is still in the pot, keeping warm for you."

"Thank you. Good morning to you too." Snape was incredibly thankful that his own constitution was past this type of embarrassment.

His own face did not betray him in the slightest as he sat down across from Potter, his own breakfast in a bowl that he sat down in front of him and promptly began peeling.

He did this in the exact same way that Potter was teaching James. Remove the cap portion off the egg, and eat the inside of it with a little spoon.

Potter liked to eat tomatoes, cucumbers, and thinly-sliced cheese with such a breakfast.

Snape preferred to eat a more Spartan breakfast, favouring only a thick slice of black bread in between mouthfuls of egg.

Breakfast eaten, the three wizards found themselves drinking tea. Each in their own way, of course.

Harry preferred his strong, but with milk and two scoops of sugar.

Snape, while also drinking his tea strong, had foregone milk and sugar. Harry marveled how Snape did not wince. That tea must be bitter, without even the ameliorating effect of milk to make it palatable.

James had by now moved out of his high chair and was sitting on his father's lap, sucking his lukewarm, sugared, milky tea out of a glass bottle with a rubber nipple for a tip.

Snape eyed him distastefully. All that sugar... His father's son, that one.

Harry caught Snape's gaze and his eyes laughed, meeting Snape's. He guessed what Snape was thinking by the look on the man's face. Then his eyes traveled down to James, finishing the last of his tea, and he kissed the back of his son's head. When James was done with his bottle, he sat James down on the floor and told him to go get The Tales book from his room.

James ran from the kitchen, climbing up the steps using arms and legs, to comply. James did not enjoy most tasks his father asked of him, but he did enjoy using his awakening magical powers. Especially if they involved tasks that James was capable of fulfilling.

Although James had not shown extensive magical ability, the boy did show the ability to make his broomstick hover. Another talent proved to be to get toys off the top shelves to float down to him. Harry wished to encourage this latest proclivity.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

"So I was wondering," Harry came into the potions workroom that Snape fashioned for himself in the lower depths of their home, "If you would like to join me and James for an outing."

Snape looked at Harry from over his immaculate ingredients table.

"Outing?" he echoed.

"I want to take James to that Magical Festival." Snape didn't need to know that it was in Godric's Hollow, a yearly event in memory of the Potter family. Harry did want Snape to say yes, after all.

Unfortunately, Snape knew of this celebration.

"Isn't it a children's festival?" his tone part-question, part-confirmation. "Many magical attractions, wizarding sweets, and," here came the furrowed eyebrows, "other people's children?"

Darn it. Snape focused on the least pleasant aspect right off. Harry had wanted to convince him to go with them before this so-called troop card came to light...

"We could make it a day," Harry encouraged. "Just the two of us...and James..."

He wanted to go with Potter. Really he did. But being surrounded by children would only serve to remind him of what he didn't have, at present...

He turned away. "I can't, Harry..." he said hoarsely.

Harry understood.

Suddenly Snape felt a pair of arms entwining him, felt himself being turned around and pulled into a strong chest.

"You really do miss her," Harry confirmed.

"I'd prefer to live without an arm, than without her," Snape nodded into Harry's shoulder.

"Does your wife work, or something?" Harry asked out of the blue. "Could be 'borrow' Aria from her home for the day, and return her before anyone notices she is gone?"

"That would be impossible." Snape shook his head. He explained to Potter how Alison sent Aria away to that children's preparatory school. The one that claimed to prepare children for Hogwarts.

Harry heard of that school. To be more precise, the first words out of his wife's mouth was that she would rather stay at home and teach James herself, rather than send him away. The school was terrible. Pure-blood families did send their children there, but only because they were operating on the misconception that the school used to be the best.

About fifty years ago.

The older generations, remembering this, would insist on sending their grand children there, mistakenly remembering the school's glory days. The newer generations of wizards, such as the first generation muggle-born, insisted on visiting the school and finding out what it was like before sending their young sons and daughters away.

After visiting the school, the wives would entreat their husbands down to allowing them to sit home with the children until the latter were old enough to attend Hogwarts.

One look at the school and the husbands agreed.

Harry refused to let up. He wanted to spend this day with Snape.

"But you're her father," Harry countered. "You can just come in and ask to take Aria for the day, can't you? Even if they insist on doing a Paternity Charm before allowing it..."

Snape looked up at Potter.

"I never thought of that," he said quietly. "But you are right, Harry. That is a distinct possibility."

Harry beamed. He kissed the tip of Snape's nose before stepping away.

"It's a plan. I have to go get James ready. Why don't you get Aria's things together as well," he suggested, implying items of food and drink that parents usually take along when going out for an extended period of time with their small children, "and I will meet you in the parlour in... Half an hour? Forty minutes?"

Snape nodded.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

It was rather an experience going out and about with the famous Harry Potter.

When they were introduced and bid to see the director of Aria's school, Snape had to swallow a smirk.

The man was clearly not expecting to see the Boy-Who-Lived before elevenses.

Only James seemed comfortable in their current presence – sitting in his father's arms, his head lying on his father's shoulder sideways, so that he was looking at the strange new person from a skewed perspective.

"We would like to take Aria Snape with us for today's celebration," Harry told the man.

Snape's eyes widened at Potter's use of his surname in connection to his daughter. The director, too, looked confused, his eyes widening, and Harry realised that he had no idea what Snape's daughter's surname was. Judging by their faces, it wasn't Snape.

"Allweather," Snape corrected Harry softly. "We would like to take Ar-," he stopped and looked pained. "Josephine Allweather to the festival. I am her father." He explained.

The director looked at Snape, now, considering his request. Then he asked his secretary to bring in the student roster. Leafing through the pages until he found the right student, the man raised his eyes apologetically.

"I am sorry to say that I cannot fulfill your request, Mr. … ...Allweather." The director finished, after a slight pause. "It says right here," he gestured at a paragraph that must have been Snape's daughter's personal information, "that only a Ms. Alison Allweather has the authority to come and pick up a Josephine Allweather from school. There is no mention of a father."

Snape knew this. Why would Alison bother to include Snape in documentation pertaining to their daughter? The woman despised him and preferred him to not exist, as far as Aria was concerned.

Potter piped up.

"But I thought that roster is only for secondary family members and friends," he intruded. "So that the school would know which people the family entrusted in case the actual parent could not come and get the child from school...?"

Snape stared at Harry. "How do you know of this?"

"I had to go get James from kindergarten once. My wife did not include my name on the roster, because I was with the team the whole year, so she didn't think I'd ever have to do it. But the headmistress of James's kindergarten was a wise old witch, especially where Ministry rules were concerned. She said that so long as I could prove I was James' father, I was free to take him home."

"How did you prove your paternity?" Snape asked, as though it were the most important question in the world to him.

"She cast the Paternity Charm on me in James' presence." Harry answered easily. "The result came instantly. After that, she told me where I could find my son and we went home. Could we do the Charm in this case, also, Headmaster?"

The man's eyebrows fused together. "Paternity Charms are notoriously imprecise..."

"Not the Patrii-Fils Charm, though," Harry answered. "It's the most accurate Paternity Spell we have..." Actually, it was a Parentage Charm. One could just as easily affirm the Maternity of a witch in question, as it could confirm the identity of a wizard as the child's father...

"It's also notoriously difficult to cast," the director countered.

Harry couldn't believe his ears. Here was the Headmaster of a prestigious (for pure-blood families!) school, telling him that he could not cast, what was probably the most important spell for him to know, in his profession. The man was responsible for child welfare, for God's sake! Harry shook his head.

"I can cast the spell, Headmaster," he offered. "I made sure I knew how to cast it, after what James' Headmistress told me. Would that be alright?"

"It is in the Ministry guidelines," the director murmured.

Harry turned to Snape.

"I need you to touch an official document with your daughter's magical signature imprinted on it. Would you be able to loan us," he said after a pause, remembering, "Josephine Allweather's, is that correct?" and, receiving two nods in response, continued. "Student Roster for this?"

When Harry was satisfied that Snape's hand was touching the scrolls, he intoned the spell.

At the point of contact, blue flames leaped out and surrounded Snape's hand in magic.

If the paternity was genuine, the parents of the child were able to read their child's Student Roster. If they weren't the parents, however, the Roster would either appear blank or transform the information about the child into confusing rubbish. Harry wasn't certain about that, because he had yet to be in a position where he was not the father of his child.

"Read the top line in your daughter's Student Information Scroll, Sn-." He stopped himself. "Severus Allweather."

"Name of child: Josephine Aria Rowena Eileen Snape Allweather," Snape obediently read out. "Birthdate: Saturday, March 28, 1998.

Age: 7 years old..."

"Enough," The Headmaster intoned. "I know how the spell works. I am convinced that you are the child's father, Mr. Allweather."

Snape stopped reading and stood stock still, his gaze turning to Harry, a strange expression on his face.

The Headmaster excused himself to go tell the secretary to bring Snape's daughter here.

Harry was left alone with Snape, clutching James awkwardly, uncomfortable at the look Snape was bestowing upon him.

Finally, after what seemed to be a ringing silence...

"Again you save me, Potter," Snape quietly offered, his eyes on Harry's. Green eyes met black.

"You can thank James on this one," Harry waved off Snape's gratitude, an embarrassed blush staining his cheeks. "If it weren't for him, I wouldn't know how to cast that spell..."

"You know what I mean," Snape said softly, and a shiver went up Harry's spine, at the words.

I'll not forget this, Snape's eyes seem to say.

Harry just smiled. "Rowena?" he asked, his eyes laughingly meeting Snape's.

Snape held Harry's gaze. "Alison's influence. Long-standing Ravenclaw roots."

Harry nodded his understanding.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

"Sit down, Miss Allweather," the professor pronounced ill-temperedly. "You might try preparing for the lesson, next time. Zero for today!"

The class giggled at that, growing quiet at the look the professor sent the class.

Aria sat down.

She had been going to school for two years, ever since Mum had that fight with Da and they separated...

And ever since then, she was relegated to the school and she absolutely hated it.

School was boring to her. She did not understand the students, she did not understand the assignments, she did not understand what her teacher wanted from her, and, when she first chanced to ask, a year ago, she received such a stern talking to that, not only did she NOT receive a coherent answer, but the response ingrained in her the very important lesson that helped her to survive in the school from then on: Do Not Ask.

Everyone in the school, from the Headmaster down to the professors, could not abide questions. Moreover, they despised any student who asked them with a personal vendetta ranging from handing out Zero's for the lesson, to permanent expulsion from the school.

That is why Aria attempted to now be as quiet as possible.

She had long ago learned that Mother will not take her out of school. The only thing Aria could do was turn eleven and be accepted at Hogwarts. She remembered asking her father how high her marks should be in order to be accepted at Hogwarts, and tearfully confessed to her Da that the marks she received were less than Acceptable.

Her Da had always been so proud of her – telling her what a smart girl she was, mastering spells that first-year Hogwarts students had trouble with.

But now she knew better. She wasn't smart – she had no idea how to do well here. And if she tried to ask, her teacher would put a low mark down on purpose, for obstinacy.

A knock sounded on the door.

"Come in!" the professor intoned.

The Headmaster's Assistant walked in. Everyone knew what this appearance signified – An Award, for a student with high marks, or Expulsion, for a student whose marks were lagging.

The class held their collective break and waited for the name the Assistant would call out.

"Allweather. Josephine."

Whispers and hushed giggles all around the room.

Aria even felt an elbow in the ribs and a furious whisper pronouncing, "Ooh, you are in trouble now!"

Everyone was aware of everyone else's marks here. And they used said knowledge to the worst ends possible.

The teacher rapped impatiently on the desk for silence.

"Josephine! Get up! Don't dawdle now, child!"

"Take your things, Miss Allweather," the Assistant said pointedly, as Aria complied.

So... she will not be coming back, then...

The door closed after them with a final thud and they were off to see the Headmaster.

What if I am expelled? She thought, a strange sort of hopeful panic surrounding the thought. If I can't go back to school, would that mean that Mother would have no other chance except to allow Father to teach me magic, again?

She set after the Headmaster's Assistant, her pace lighter than it had been a moment ago.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

When they turned the corner towards the Headmaster's Office, the Assistant bid her to sit down and wait for the Headmaster, before departing in the direction they had come from.

Aria sat on the bench, dangling her feet because she was still small enough and her legs did not touch the ground when she sat down.

A few moments later, the door opened and two men stepped out.

One was holding a very small boy in his hands. The boy stared at Aria out of large brown eyes.

The man holding the child wore round spectacles in front of green eyes – very green eyes – and his hair was pointing in all directions. Aria thought that if her Da ever saw her with hair like that, he'd go mental.

The other man was tall and thin, like her Da, except that his hair was pulled back away from his face, and he had a beard. While the other man was speaking, this one stood stock still when Aria met his gaze.

"You must be Aria," the green-eyed stranger knelt beside her so that they were face-to-face – all three of them. "My name is Harry," he introduced himself and, after a moment's notice, shook the girl's hand.

"And this is my son, James," he added, as James extended his own hand to Aria, copying his father. Aria shook James' hand, as well, after which Harry stepped aside, and Aria was left to stare at the strange, unidentifiable, bearded man, who was not saying a word...

He seemed familiar to her, somehow...

"Do you know who I am?" the man finally asked Aria, after a time. "I am wearing a Glamour. This is not my true face. But we met before. You came to visit me awhile back," the man said softly, his voice hoarse, as he swallowed heavily. Aria continued to stare at him. "I gave you a bunny rabbit..."

Aria's eyes widened at that, surprise etched in her facial features. Only her Da gave her bunny rabbits... It was their little secret...

She got up and came closer. "Who are you?"

Instead of answering, he knelt until they were face-to-face. Their eyes met...

_My little Aria_...

He held out his hands and she walked right into them, hugging her father's neck as his arms came about her and he stood up, holding her to his chest tightly. She pulled away long enough to meet his gaze.

"Da? Is that really you?" she asked.

"Yes, angel," Snape answered. "I came to spend the day with you... if you wish..."

"Do I have to go back to school?" she asked her father.

"Not for the whole day," Snape shook his head. "But I will be taking you back here in the evening..."

"I don't have school today?" she asked him, quite unable to believe it.

"You don't have school today," Snape confirmed her words.

"But do you have to bring me back in the evening?"

"I'm afraid so," Snape answered honestly, and Harry saw his jaw clench at the words.

So Snape doesn't like the school any more than I do! Harry realised. But then what is all this nonsense – he doesn't have to force his child to go to school here if he doesn't want her here... Unless it's not his wish that brought her here in the first place. But then... Why is Snape playing along...keeping his daughter in a school like this? He was Headmaster of the most prestigious school in the UK! Of anyone, Severus Snape would know which school has merit and which school stinks worse than a dung bomb...

Snape, Aria in his arms, was walking towards the exits. Harry hurried to catch them.

"If you two have no objections, I believe we should Apparate to Godric's Hollow." Harry asked, then he looked at Aria. "Have you ever been Apparated before?"

He exited the school building and held the door open for Snape and Aria (in Snape's arms) to come through.

"Yes," Aria nodded.

Harry took out his wand and cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm over the four of them.

"Should I Apparate us to Godric's Hollow, or do you want to?" he asked the older man.

"You do it," Snape answered. "I have only ever Apparated to the cemetery there..."

Harry grinned. "That's the only Apparating point I know as well," he revealed before holding out his hand to Snape for Contact Side-Along Apparition.

Snape took it, holding the boy saviour's hand firmly.

They Disapparated with a loud Crack.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Snape paid for their Entrance Passes at the door. Setting Aria down by the tickets kiosk, Snape inquired what the tickets cost and was told that children under five years attended for free, which exempted James. And, because James was too young to ride on his own, one parent riding with him would be able to ride without needing to purchase a ticket.

Aria's ticket was a nominal sum; it helped that she was attending a famous preparatory school, (even if Snape wouldn't put a dead kniezel against the quality of education there).

Upon entering the park area themselves, they were besotted by all types of vendors – selling anything from levitating animal shapes to an entire model set of the park itself, complete with miniature attractions.

After some deliberation (and his daughter's insistence), he bought Aria a Dandelion Flower – with a white head. The head would dissipate into many tiny fluttering puffs if a magical child blew on it, and these tiny, fuzzy pieces would reappear slowly, one by one, with a quiet Pop.

James got just what he was clamouring for too – it was a red lion almost as big as he is, with golden-yellow paws, a matching fluffy tip at the end of his tail, and a flaming orange mane.

Snape looked between the lion, Harry, and back again, pretending to be deep in thought.

"He reminds me of someone..." he offered when his gaze fell back to Harry. The corner of his mouth curled up as he half-smiled, daring Harry to disagree with him.

"Yes. But you still bought him." Harry laughed, teasing Snape, and Snape had to agree (silently!), that Harry had him there.

The first attraction that met them was the Swimming Swans Ride. And, because it seemed a safe (and slow!)-moving ride, they both concluded that it would be alright for small children.

They were right.

But oh, how it hurt.

The children did have a good time – James was so excited that Harry had to hold him back forcefully, or risk having to jump into the water after his son should James chance to fall off the majestically gliding Swan.

Aria had a lovely time as well. They sat in pairs – Harry with James in the front, and Snape with Aria in the back. That part was alright, as well.

Problem came when the Swan Ride turned out to have quite the long route – the little river went all around the Festival, and ten minutes into the ride, both Harry and Snape wished they had never got on it.

Their long, adult-sized legs had no other option except to stay in the same position as the one they took upon boarding their Swan, and very soon, both men developed pins-and-needles sensations in their lower limbs.

It was worse than a round of Crucio. At least torture came and went in waves, with a refractory period in between, however small.

There was no end to the discomfort here.

Harry and Snape shared a torturous look over the back of Harry's Swan Chair.

It was going to be a long ride.

At first they tried to just ignore the unpleasant sensations.

But such was their suffering, that they managed to ruin their children's enjoyment twenty minutes into the ride by their quiet but constant moaning and groaning about the state of their Anatomic parts.

When it was finally over, Aria got out of the Swan first, climbing over Snape. If she stepped on her father's legs, he was none the wiser – his legs had fallen asleep a while ago.

Next, Harry set James down onto the landing dock next to Aria.

Now...

It took Harry five rounds of Enervate! before his legs remembered that they were part of an entire system, and that it was a system that desired to finally get out of the damn Swan.

Snape was less fortunate. Ten rounds of Enervate.

When they finally got out of the Torture Trap, they remained quiet for a long time. Their children gave up on starting a conversation with the fathers and started a conversation between themselves that culminated in a game of Catch-the-James and Chaser-Aria.

Snape and Harry still hadn't said a word.

The next ride they saw was the Tea Pot Ride.

Turning to each other with identical looks of horror, they exchanged a look at the ride and met each others' eyes. Then they opened their mouths and said, in matching rhythm...

"No Tea Pots or Swans Ride."

"No Tea Pots or Swans Ride."

If James laughed at his Da's funny behaviour, Aria, as a school-age child and old enough to show sympathy, needed but one look at her Da's face to realise that there was nothing funny going on here.

Something Hoot!ed in the distance, and Snape and Harry shivered when they turned around and realised what it was...

A Miniature Train Sets Ride. With tiny seats for children, and just as much leg room.

Now they both turned to each of their children and said, in the exact same tone:

"No Miniature Trains Set Ride."

"No Miniature Trains Set Ride."

"Alright, Da," Aria nodded in understanding.

James opted to invent a new word on the spot.

The new term aptly described how Harry and Snape felt about the first three rides in the park of attractions.

Aria spotted the next ride first.

It was named the Flying Cars ride, and, although it was for children a bit older, Snape saw that there were fastenings inside the cars. It also helped that the cars seated two.

The best aspect was that this time around, there was plenty of leg room.

The cars were able to fly inside of a specific, enchanted area at any height, with a variable speed that would not cause children to fly out of their cars and risk forcing their parents to take an unplanned trip to St Mungo's.

Harry strapped James into the passenger seat while he took the steering role.

Snape did the same with Aria.

The lower portion of the car was a soft white cloud – no doubt a safety feature to make collisions not only less damaging, but also enjoyable, because Harry and Snape have seen many cars in the vicinity colliding with each other for the fun of it only to easily separate and continue to fly around the enchanted room, laughing in merriment.

This ride was Snape's favourite.

On it, he had first seen Harry laugh like a carefree child (And it didn't take Snape back to Harry's stubborn first years at Hogwarts, either!).

This was the reason that Snape's favourite aspect of the ride was to fly up behind Harry and bump into him, seemingly by accident. Snape would smirk, Harry would smile, James would giggle, and they would be off again, floating on a cloud of their own until they chanced to meet again...

Harry enjoyed the bump and grind, Snape noticed and just had to smile at his clever metaphor.

Aria enjoyed floating around and admiring the magical ceiling. Almost too much. Snape started to worry that his assessment was completely wrong and he would end up with a Ravenclaw daughter, when time came...

But then he realised, that Aria was only admiring the reflection in the ceiling, which, Snape realised, could be used to his advantage in order to hasten his and Harry's Cloud Cars (Head-On!) Reunion.

He smirked.

Perhaps there was a tiny bit of Slytherin in his daughter, after all. It was the Slytherin side of her parentage that could use augmenting – because asides from her grandmother and himself... Only muggles and Ravenclaws.

If Snape were mean-spirited, he would say something about the inability to differentiate...

The ride was over and the Cloud Cars stopped in their latest positions. This meant that those high up in the ceiling ended up stuck high up in the ceiling, able to get down only with a Wingardium Leviosa charm done for them by somebody lower down.

Luckily, Snape and Aria landed firmly on the ground at the end of the ride.

Snape looked meaningfully at Harry for a moment, and Harry understood and unstrapped himself and James, placing James in his lap.

Then he nodded at Snape.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he enchanted Harry, and, by extension, James, and father and son were slowly sailing down...

Down into Snape's arms as Snape caught Harry and set him down.

"That was fun!" Harry exclaimed, for the benefit of Aria and James, who smiled.

"Should we go up again?" Snape offered.

Aria shook her head, because by this time she glimpsed a Cloud Candy vendor and looked beseechingly at Snape.

Snape shared a look with Harry.

"Would you like one too?" he asked. "If I buy one for James, you'll have to be the one to finish it because the thing is larger than his head."

Snape ended up buying two portions – one for Aria, who proceeded to devour hers at a speed previously unknown to Snape outside of the flight speed of a Firebolt, and one for James, who looked at it most queerly until his ministrations chanced to get some in his mouth. After which, of course, the sweet disappeared just as swiftly as Aria's.

Harry was able to steal a bit of an end piece and shared it with Snape, who, under pretense of enjoying the sweet, sucked a bit of Harry's finger into his mouth, causing quite a few consequences for the two of them.

Said consequences lasted only until they saw models of Floating Cars in the distance and Harry decided to borrow one for James.

In reality, they were Hovering Cars, a fact that became painfully (emphasis on that) obvious, as Harry had to apologise to each and every witch and wizard whom James 'ran over' in his Hovercraft by crashing unceremoniously into their legs.

James was a terrible driver.

Snape didn't say a word.

He was trying his best to do nothing more than smirk and risk exposing that he had a sense of humour.

Finally taking pity on Harry (or on himself, because he was very close to guffawing in laughter), Snape suggested that they return their unfortunate purchase and get a more reliable car.

He pointed.

Harry saw that Snape was right.

In the distance, he saw the same cars, but for a bit older children, and what was more important, Snape pointed Harry's attention to the fact that they were two-seater cars, instead of one rider only.

Snape's gaze went to Aria, and, a moment later, Snape got a car for both children at the same time.

Harry was only too happy to replace one car with the other.

The car did not seem to have fastener belts – so Snape tore a piece of rope that stated, in bold letters, DO NOT ENTER off and into two pieces, after which he transfigured them into car belts.

Harry fastened James in while Snape fastened in Aria.

Aria was a much more capable driver than James, even in her a bit less tender young age.

Snape did not have to apologise to any magicalfolk in the name of his daughter's driving habits.

Then again, she flew the little car over the heads of said magicalfolk, so there was really no likelihood of collisions there.

When she flew the car back to her father, Harry saw James' little head was resting against the inside of the car's door. James was looking a bit peaked.

Picking James up from the little flying car, Snape held him while Harry fished James' pram out of his pocket and enlarged it, pulling the covers back while Snape set James inside.

Aria was floating a little ways off, enjoying the ability to fly faster, without her underage passenger to limit the sweet freedom of flying fast(er, a bit).

While Aria was thus occupied, James was checked and changed, deemed satisfactory enough to sleep through his entire nap time, undisturbed by lack of hygiene, covered up with a blanket and was now floating along in his pram, in front of Harry and Snape as they resumed walking in the direction they had seen Aria fly in.

A huge, rotating wheel in the sky rose in front of them. The ride was called the Observation Wheel – and it looked like a gigantic moving circle made out of a stationary centre that rotated spokes coming out of it towards the circumference of said circle. The end of each spoke contained a mushroom-shaped car attached to it – the bottom half containing seats and a central table with a steering wheel that rotated each individual car. The top of the car was umbrella-shaped and complemented the lower half by making both halves together resemble an oval.

The cars started out on the bottom and moved slowly in a full circle around the full perimeter of the ride. Harry and Snape saw witches and wizards of all ages board the ride – children (or even grandchildren) sitting on their laps.

Harry thought it would be amazing to look over the whole of Godric's Hollow from the perspective of the sky. Then again, Harry's favourite aspect of the Wizarding World came from such a perspective – Quidditch at Hogwarts.

The line for the ride moved forward an entire family at a time (as each car descended and the previous family occupying the car exited).

The car that Snape and Harry finally boarded was a family car – it lacked the centre steering table.

For this reason, James' pram was placed in the centre, with the three of them taking the available seats in the periphery of the car. He had long since fallen asleep, which, Harry judged, was probably from the day's excitement.

Harry fastened James' pram to the inside of the car as they started to move, slowly but surely, upwards.

Snape, for his part, added a sticking charm to the peacefully-sleeping James – so that he would not fall out when they were high up. Better safe than sorry, came Snape's wary council.

Harry, in retaliation, fastened Aria into her seat in the car, with a smirk over at Snape. What is this with our recent trend to taking care of the other's child, and forgetting about our own?

Snape just smiled indulgently. They were already above the tops of the trees, so he followed Aria's lead and chose to look out at the panorama opening out before them. It really was breathtaking. He chanced a look at Harry. And sharing the daylight on an outing with Harry made the experience all that much more memorable.

Upon dismounting, they decided to take a walk somewhere quiet where James could sleep, undisturbed (and they could talk, uninterrupted), and so started heading off to the famous Godric's Hollow cemetery. At the exit to the park, Snape asked if they would be able to return after leaving the park, and was told that, yes, sir, because the tickets in his hand were All Day Passes.

They walked through the rows of headstones, sometimes talking, and sometimes remaining silent in reverence of the deceased. Sometimes, Aria would fly overhead and the wind would ruffle their hair. Harry would laugh because his hair was not any the worse for it, but Snape would always insist on smoothing his pony tail down.

This is the first that Snape had witnessed of his daughter's enjoyment of flying, and when the conversation turned even more drastically to flying for sport, Aria showed a heretofore unknown enthusiasm for broomstick flying.

They saw a row of coffee shops lining the street ahead, and so decided to stop for lunch. Harry bought James' lunch and stowed it away in his pram, under a preservation charm, for after James woke up.

Then he stared Snape down and ordered him to buy himself and Aria a real lunch, even if Harry was the one paying for it (Snape acquiesced in the end).

When they came back to the park, Snape bought the flying car instead of returning it to the vendor.

"The car is more useful and less dangerous than a broomstick," Snape offered when Harry, confronted Snape about his uncharacteristic decision.

"Useful? How?" Harry inquired.

"Transfiguration lessons," Snape answered, thoughtful. "You saw – car belts, for instance. And anything else that we may come up with in the course of the lesson..."

Harry had no idea that Snape would take the creative approach to teaching.

Snape, for his part, decided not to reveal to Harry that he was absolutely terrible at Transfiguration, most of which he had learned after his Hogwarts years, in the course of preparing Aria for Hogwarts.

The car will join Harry's and James' broomsticks in the shed.

"If I help you work on the flying car, would you let me and James borrow it, some time?" Harry asked.

Snape nodded, surprised.

Harry, understanding Snape's confusion, grinned. "Hey, on a broom or in a car, doesn't matter. Flying's flying, right Aria?"

"Yes," she called back, high above their heads.

"I'm getting her a broomstick when she turns eleven," Harry told Snape matter-of-factly. "It is a first-year requirement, after all..."

"No, you won't," Snape said stubbornly.

Harry considered Snape for a moment.

"What about if I promise that the broomstick will fall apart on the last day of her first-year flying lessons?" he offered, jesting, a glimmer in his eye.

"Deal!" replied Snape. "But I will hold you to that..."

Choosing a moment when Aria was a bit away from the two of them, Harry turned to Snape and kissed him, his hand fisting in the man's shirt front.

"You can hold anything you want to me," Harry said, laughing, when they pulled apart, and for one tiny, insignificant moment in time they were sharing the same breath.

Snape flushed, thinking they probably weren't talking about their children's broomsticks, anymore...

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

When James awoke, he was changed and fed a late lunch (the earlier one he had missed) while the three of them ate supper.

It was time to head home.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

Something changed within Snape after they left Aria at the school in the evening.

Thinking back, it was difficult to see who was less willing – Snape, to leave Aria, or Aria, to go back to school.

Snape seemed oddly tense, and his words went at odds with his gestures.

This, for example...

"You'd best go," Harry heard him say to his only child. _While he was clutching her to his chest_...!

"Alright, Da," Harry heard Aria answer. _But she continued to clutch at her father's neck_...!

"I'll come for you on Friday," _Snape offered, not letting go_.! "We'll have the entire week-end..."

But Aria just shook her head sadly. "Mother's taking me home on Friday. It's All Hollows' Eve week-end..."

"I see," Snape nodded into her hair. There was an unhealthy gleam in his eyes...

One of the many school Assistants came in then, and Aria was taken up to the children's sleeping quarters.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

When they left the school and walked to the Apparition Point from which to get home, Snape seemed ill at ease.

He remained silent and did not snap at Harry, but, when Harry reached over to take Snape's hand, Snape flinched away from Harry. (What the fuck?)

Before gathering himself and clutching Harry's hand so tightly it was a wonder that it remained attached when they landed in front of their cottage.

After which, Snape pushed past him at the entrance, and, outer cloak still on, disappeared in his basement laboratory.

**Hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

Harry realised that he had quite managed to forget all about Snape in the kerfuffle following their return. Sure, Snape may have been upset at leaving the school without Aria, and it wasn't that higher priorities than Severus Snape had suddenly assaulted Harry – they were just more pressing ones in that they demanded immediate attention.

Hanging up his cloak in the parlour, Harry removed James' belongings from his pockets, all shrunk, and, enlarging them back to their original size, sent them flying according to the destination that awaited them. James' bottles flew into the kitchen and landed in the sink, where they immediately started washing themselves.

James' dirty pants, carefully folded, flew themselves into the rubbish bin as the lid opened and then closed, after they were deposited inside.

Harry's trainers were exchanged for his home slippers before Harry, casting a spell at James' pram, climbed up the stairs after the floating and sleeping James (in his pram, of course!).

Once in his bedroom, Harry undressed James, changed his pants, and put him in a pyjamas top. Then he threw back the covers in James' bed and, with a Wingardium Leviosa, James slowly levitated from his pram to land softly in his bed. After which Harry pulled the covers over him, tucking him in, and deposited the garish lion that was Snape's present into bed with his son, at the head of James' bed (that way, James will not be startled by the bright colours of the lion when he awoke, but would, after a bit of turning himself over in the morning and discovering the toy, perhaps amuse himself for the time it would take Harry to come for him after the Monitoring Charm went off, as it invariably had every morning, as soon as James awakened).

Harry left, closing the door softly behind him, tossing James' pants into the rubbish bin as he went downstairs to check on Snape.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

Snape wasn't in the sitting room.

Harry cast Incendio to light the fire-place, keeping the gloom away a bit with cheery, orange flames that reminded Harry of James' newest toy.

Was Snape in his lab? Harry wondered. He couldn't be starting to brew anything, could he? It was almost bedtime...

There was no door leading to Snape's potions lab. Nothing to open and close as one went down the stairs leading to Snape's work room – because it was a grey rectangle of smoke – that Harry found he could pass through easily.

Though it did keep James out. As well as all manner of potions smells, because whenever Snape brewed, the fumes did not penetrate up the stairs.

Harry realised that the magical partition also kept out unwanted sounds from reaching up the stairs, because Harry hadn't head a sound until he came through the grey fog.

THUD! THUD THUD!

Harry's immediately headed off in the direction of the sound.

What he saw made his heart clench and plummet...

Snape's outer cloak crumpled up in the corner. And Snape, his black robes fanning out in all directions around him, sat on the floor, glaring morosely at it...

Harry came closer and saw that Snape's right hand was hanging awkwardly, the fist purpling from a wrist that seemed to be jutting at a very odd angle...

"Snape?" Harry called out, but the man did not seem to hear him. Only when Harry came near enough that his shadow overshadowed Snape, did Snape bother to look up.

"Get. Out."

Those weren't Snape's eyes, looking so dully at Harry. In every single one of Snape's looks, passion always lurked. Mostly it was sneering contempt, sometimes grim satisfaction, or the conceited arrogance of a man who knew more than Harry ever would and he knew it...

Harry would trade any one of these looks for what he saw in Snape's eyes now.

Snape looked like a cornered animal.

Any more pathetic, and he'd be begging me to kill him...

Harry wasn't sure he could handle that.

"What's wrong with you?" Harry tried again. "Because if it's that school, it's not worth it. None of those wankers are worth i-"

"It's not the school, Harry." But he didn't elaborate further.

Harry knelt behind Snape, his arms going around the older man.

They sat like that.

Snape sighed shakily.

"It seems," he said so softly that Harry had to strain to hear, "I can neither die nor live." He laughed bitterly, and it was a broken, hoarse sound. There was a desperate quality to Snape's voice.

Harry just held onto Snape, letting him talk.

"If I die, I can't live. And I can't live, because I'm meant to die. And I can't be her father... if I'm dead..."

"Snape, if this is about the Ministry, we'll think of something. You don't have to remain dead..."

Snape's head turned to stare at Harry, his mouth turning into an ugly scowl.

"That's just it," he whispered, turning away. "I can't take care of her... because I'm dead. And I have to remain dead," Snape seemed to emphasise the word, "or never see her again..."

His hand seemed to grasp Harry's weakly, until Harry looked down and saw that Snape was holding onto Harry's hand with his injured one!

How can Snape even be moving that hand of his...let alone performing primitive grasping operations?

"Bloody vicious circle...No way out." His eyes found Harry's. "Do you know the way out, Potter? Would you tell me, if you knew?"

Harry thought that there must be one. And even if they have to make their way blindly in the dark, they'd find it.

He briefly realised that he was clenching Snape hard enough to bruise the man's ribs, and loosened his grip.

Snape didn't notice.

"Have you got a chance to look through the scrolls, then?" Harry offered quietly, words brushing against the back of Snape's black head.

"The scrolls?" Snape echoed. Then he laughed, and it was a bitter, hollow sound.

"Oh, sure I did," Snape said it so maliciously that it took Harry a moment to realise that Snape were answering in the affirmative.

"Let's see then, shall we?" Venom was dripping off of every word.

The hand that was previously grasping Harry's retreated to awkwardly burrow in Snape's robes. It was Snape's injured hand. Harry saw Snape wince a couple of times as he was searching, and wondered, dimly, if the man were not using his hurt hand on purpose, in order to cause himself more pain...

Snape pulled out his wand.

"ACCIO MINISTRY DOCUMENTS!" he roared.

One by one, the scrolls obediently flew into the room.

"To speak of impossible tasks, Potter," he snatched a scroll out of mid-air, pretending to intently read what it contained.

"PRIORI SCRIVITAS!" Snape touched his wand to the scroll and incanted, as ink, black as Snape's hair, spilled from the tip of Snape's wand and arranged itself in rows of spiky black handwriting that Harry recognised was Snape's.

"Would you like to see just how impossible is our little task, Potter?" Snape said softly, but Harry clearly heard the spite in his words.

Harry looked uncomfortable.

Snape seemed beyond caring.

"This one here looks especially promising," Snape informed Harry, voice dripping with irony. "I reckon it'll be a life sentence in Azkaban just for the contents of this scroll, alone." Snape thrust it into Harry's hands.

"Read it and weep, Potter!" Snape crowed malevolently.

How many Muggles did the Applicant torture?

List the curses and hexes used.

How many Wizards/Witches did the Applicant torture?

How many of them were Muggle-born?

List the curses and hexes used.

How many Muggles did the Applicant kill (either by torturing them to death or by the killing curse)?

How many Wizards/Witches did the Applicant kill...?

Name the spells used.

Briefly describe how the Applicant learned of the Dark Arts.

How many animals did the Applicant victimise while learning the Dark Arts?

Now sum together the numbers listed above and write in the Total Number of the Applicant's Victims.

SPECIAL NOTE ON ATTENUATING CIRCUMSTANCES: Please list all of the Applicant's victims that are currently still alive (if such exist).

Snape's answers stood out, spilling across the page, clarifying and damning all at once.

As Harry read on, all colour seemed to have drained from his face.

Snape did not fail to notice this.

"Just so you are not harbouring under any misapprehensions, Potter," he began, voice deceptively soft, because the words weren't. "They are NOT collecting all of this information for a Pardon. These are INTERROGATION QUESTIONS. The Ministry has no intention of granting any Death Eaters, living, deceased, young or old, permanent, or transient, any Pardons. And if I actually send out these scrolls, completed, I am going to wish I was dead. Because the only thing the Ministry will be kind enough to grant me would be a one-way ticket to Azkaban!"

Snape finished his diatribe.

"So," he continued, eyes burning into Harry's. "Do you still believe we can win this, Potter?"

Snape thought that he had rather won this argument. It was an empty, pointless victory, but considering that these were the only types he was allowed, of late...

Harry said something.

"I beg your pardon, Potter?"

He must have misheard...

"Yes." Harry said as he lowered the scroll, completely flabbergasting Snape.

"WHAT?" Shock, plain and simple shock, edged the last word in much the same way that spite, malice, irony, and sarcasm have decorated all of the man's previously spoken words.

He couldn't believe it.

And then he was completely floored.

"I believe in you, Snape. I have for a while now. I see it in your eyes."

Harry waved the scrolls in his fist.

"It is the reason I cannot allow your verdict to be anything but positive."

"Reason?" Snape repeated, eyes widening.

But Harry stared Snape down.

"Oh, come on, Snape! You regret every single damned crime that's written here." Harry thrust the scrolls at Snape, but they just ended up scattered all over the floor.

"It's what sets you apart from real criminals."

Snape smiled wryly at that; only a child would believe Snape wasn't a real criminal.

"You repented without going to Azkaban, Snape! Don't look at me like that. For anyone who knows you, it's easy to see that you have repented. And not just for the coward reason of not wanting to go to prison, either."

"Because you... You would tear your soul apart (Don't make that face! It's what you've been doing here when I came in, admit it!), if it would erase just ONE of your crimes."

"And if the Ministry for Magic won't pardon you, Snape, I will."

Damn you, Potter.

Turned away as he was, Potter did not see the tear that spilled down Snape's bearded cheek.

Snape covered his face with his hands.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

When Harry clung to Snape, as though Snape were something precious, someone worth saving...and he felt a connection, a sort of a tendril of warmth, flow between their touching hands...

"I meant what I said, Snape," Harry kissed the back of Snape's greasy head. "I'll help you."

"How is it... that you have so much faith, Harry?" Snape said it so softly... if faith was measured in volume, Harry would conclude that Snape had none.

"Because people like you don't belong in Azkaban, Snape." Harry told him firmly. "It's the same with Sirius..."

Snape did a double-take. "Don't you DARE compare us!" he burst out.

"Don't be a git. You know what I mean... Sirius wasn't a monster and neither are you!"

"If your idea is to convince me by comparing me to your Godfather, you're doing a piss-poor job of it, Potter..."

"Listen, Snape, I realise that Sirius did some pretty awful things, to you in particular..." Snape made a hmph sound. "To you in particular," Harry raised his voice. "But it wasn't intentional."

Snape scoffed. "Still not convincing me, Potter..." he warned.

"Just hear me out. I realise that it looked quite bad, I was present for one of your experiences with Sirius..." Harry pre-empted Snape. "I am sorry for that, but I'm glad I saw it. Because I understood something..."

Snape just looked at Harry, as though he'd lost his mind.

"I spend months, chasing down Sirius and Remus to ask them why they did that to you."

"And what reason did they give you?" Snape asked stiffly.

"That's just it. They couldn't name ONE. I think Remus just couldn't find a strong enough way to tell Sirius 'No.' And Sirius," Harry looked at Snape seriously, willing him to believe. "Sirius just never realised that what he was doing was truly so horrible that he needed to stop. Probably his upbringing taught him that – I'd be willing to bet that there were really bad things going on at Grimmauld Place when he was growing up... things bad enough for him to deny his entire family and sort Gryffindor. But, as far as bad examples go, his family had set him up with theirs as a special gift for him, and that's what you got saddled with when they poked fun at you. But it really wasn't against you, Snape."

"So what? Am I to forgive every insult now, just because it wasn't personal?" Snape mocked.

"I did," Harry said quietly. "It's the only way to free yourself of it all. Deep down, all people know that hurting others is bad. Problem is, they still do it because they saw adults do this when they were growing up."

Snape was quiet now, regarding Harry as though Harry had grown another head, and this new head was actually intelligent...

"Growing up, my aunt and uncle couldn't stand me. Only later did I find out that they hated me because I was magical, and they weren't. But back then, all I saw was that they hated me, and their dislike imprinted on their son, my cousin, Dudley, who saw their parents' feelings for me as reason to make my life miserable."

"How did you handle it, Potter?" Snape asked.

"I kicked his arse, mostly." Harry laughed and Snape's mouth curled up of its own accord. "So he'd know not to mess with me while he learned that bullying people wasn't on."

"And did your cousin actually come to this conclusion?" Snape asked.

"Actually, yes. It helped that I saved him from a Dementor that Umbridge sent against me, summer before my fifth year. I didn't realise it at the time, though. Just sorta noticed that he'd gotten quieter around me. As though he started thinking." Harry laughed. "Which, if you've ever seen Dudley, it's not easy to make him think."

"He's a bit like you, then," Snape commented.

"Don't be a git," but he smiled at Snape's words, anyway. "I'm bringing up Dudley and Sirius to show you that, yes, what they did – while not very cool, had reasons that had nothing to do with me or you being bullied, Snape. We wouldn't have understood it at the time it was happening though. But not you, not Sirius, and now, not Dudley (because I heard he is making good for himself, a respectful and respectable man, a job, friends who like him not for his ability to pound someone into the ground, then sit and pass gas on them, yes, he used to do that, but not anymore)..."

"But if you take the histories... Sirius', Dudley's, yours, and even mine (because I killed someone) – would land us all in Azkaban. Doesn't mean we belong there, though."

"Your argument is strangely persistent, Potter," Snape quietly offered. "I'd never have thought..."

"I'm just saying that there are certain people for whom the bigger crime is to be in Azkaban," Harry told Snape firmly. "You, for example. So if this rubbish," Harry spread his hand out, meaning the Ministry scrolls, "Leave us with no option except to lie to keep you out of Azkaban, then so be it. I'm sure there's magic allowing us to lie for very good reasons..."

"They have Veritaserum at their disposal, Potter..."

"So what?" Harry countered. "There's got to be something we can use, too."

Ah, now THIS was fun. Potter was talking about BREAKING RULES to help him. Snape thought he'd never see the day...

"We can use the Memory Charm, can't we?" Potter wouldn't let up. "We can say what we want to say, and then you can Obliviate me to remember only what we practised. That way, even under Veritaserum, I'd only be able to give information that would help you..."

Snape shook his head. "A skilled Legilimens can spot a Memory Charm at work..."

"Non-magical tools, then." The Gryffindor just won't get up. Something warm took up residence in Snape's heart. Comforting.

"Hypnotism or something," Potter continued. "It's a muggle mind trick..."

Snape had to smile at that. "I know, Potter. I grew up muggle..."

Right. Harry knew that.

Harry looked at Snape. Really looked.

No longer upset and throwing things, no longer punching his fist through a wall, Snape was feeling like his old self – smirking like the cat that's got the cream, and pointing out the flaws in Harry's ill-thought-out ideas.

Harry raised himself up, stretching, then extended a hand to Snape.

Snape winced as he got up, and his hand moved against his injury.

How could he have forgotten...?

"You're hurt..." Harry said, taking Snape's hand by the elbow, and settling it so it won't move to cause Snape an injury.

"Oh, that?" Snape brushed off Harry's concern. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing."

"I've long stopped caring about physical pain, Potter..."

"Then it's about time you started giving a damn, again!" Harry countered. He didn't like to swear, but if Snape didn't stop the habit, Harry feared it would infect him too. Bad habits were contagious that way.

To prove his point, Harry took Snape's hurt wrist and squeezed it, forcing Snape to remember that yes, he WAS injured, and they SHOULD do something about it.

Snape's eyes widened, but he did not otherwise react.

Harry turned Snape to face him and, taking out his wand, dragged it delicately over Snape's wrist.

Snape shivered at the contact, looking at Harry oddly.

Harry was copying the wand movements Snape used, when the latter healed Harry's Quidditch injury.

Snape felt... warmth. His hand tingled. It was a pleasant feeling.

And the wrist no longer looked disproportionately large, as the swelling decreased.

"Are you in any pain?" Harry asked, moving closer to Snape.

"Constantly." Snape replied and drew forward, meeting Harry halfway.

He caught Harry's mouth with his and they kissed.

"I meant your hand," Harry clarified when they pulled away. He was flushing.

"It doesn't bother me."

"But does it hurt?" Harry persisted.

Snape gave him the odd look again and shook his head. He didn't understand it. Many long years, the source at the end of all his problems was the Boy-Who-Lived. Now, however, it's as though he is a completely different Harry Potter. Had he changed, or had Snape himself just been so completely wrong about the boy?

"We are not wanking ourselves tonight, Potter," Snape told Harry seriously. "I want you inside me..." He was looking at Harry, almost eager...

"Have you ever done that before?" Harry asked. "I haven't. Maybe you'd better-"

"No." Snape countered. "You won't hurt me."

"I'd rather have something besides your word, Snape. Your pain threshold is ridiculous."

"Well, if you're so worried..." And Snape Summoned a medium-sized vial of Dittany off the shelf behind him, handing it to Harry.

But Harry still grabbed that almost-unopened bottle of Sunflower Oil from the kitchen...

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

Harry leaned Snape against Snape's bedroom door to close it, as Snape took the opportunity to take Harry's face between his hands and snog the Boy-Who-Lived until he was breathless.

Without his Glamour in the way, kissing Harry became a whole new experience.

Snape set the vial of Dittany down on the night-table.

Cast a discrete Cleaning Charm on himself. Wordlessly, of course.

Harry threw the bottle of Sunflower Oil on the bed and started frantically tearing his clothes off, looking hungrily at Snape.

Snape's cock started to feel very uncomfortable in his pants at that look. Snape's own robes fell on the chair he kept by the side of his bed.

He pulled back the covers and extended his hand to the Boy-Who-Lived. When Harry took it, and Snape pulled, hard, Harry ended up sprawled on top of Snape in Snape's bed.

With his erection rubbing at Snape's.

Snape's erection really liked that.

Reaching a hand over for the dittany, Snape pours some into his hand, before taking himself in hand and running his hand over his erection, hardandfasthardandfasthardandfast, never taking his eyes off Harry.

No childishness tonight, Harry. Tonight we fuck. HARD.

Harry's eyes glazed over as they followed Snape's hand, up and down, as though hypnotised.

Fuck this, Snape thought, and poured half the vial of Dittany onto his cock, feeling it drip onto his scrotum. It felt so good.

He kept rubbing it in, though, raising himself up to reach his arse, and gestured at Harry to get the other pillow, which he placed under his bum.

He was so fucking hard now...

"Prepare me, Potter," he said slowly, pointedly. In control. "First one finger. Then two. Then three. Then... we fuck."

Harry understood as he sat on his haunches, and leaned in, kissing Snape's stomach, bony hips, the tip of Snape's cock, after which HE shivered and circled his finger around Snape's arsehole.

Snape was so certain that it was supposed to hurt. The first time.

And for him, it might as well BE the first time, it's been a long time since he'd had penetrative sex.

It didn't hurt.

"Scissor your fingers, Harry," he said, rubbing his erection. OH yes... Yes, yes, yes...

When he felt his inner muscles expand, Harry inserted a third finger.

Snape saw stars!

"Do... do that again," he said hoarsely. He had to grab himself to avoid coming right then and there.

Harry complied.

Snape's cock became even more, unbearably, hard. As though Harry had some kind of magical power over it...

"That's enough," he gasped and handed over the vial to Harry. "In me... now. Be generous with the lube."

Dittany was dripping off of Potter's cock as he aligned himself with Snape's hole and pushed inside.

So... So fucking GOOD.

Snape sobbed in pleasure.

Harry slowly started to inch in. "I don't want to hurt you..."

"You're... not... hurting me," Snape replied, pushing his arse onto Harry's cock. "Push into me... that's it..." Snape closed his eyes.

Harry gasped. "Snape... I'm gonna come soon."

"DON'T YOU DARE!" Snape's eyes flew open, and he grabbed Potter's balls.

That seemed to help.

When Potter was almost all the way in, Snape put his long legs around Potter's waist and pulled him closer. Involuntarily, Potter thrust his hips forward, his eyes going closed.

"You're so tight, Snape... Feel so good..."

"Yesss," Snape agreed, fisting his cock as Harry thrust shallowly, too more times. He needed more, ohgodohgodohgod...

"Faster..." He urged Potter and the boy struggled to comply... Snape fisted himself faster and faster, hand flying on his cock now. Gods, he was going to...

"I'm..." Potter wasn't even looking at Snape now. "Gonna...gonna..."

He felt Potter fill his arse first. Pulse after pulse after pulse, with Potter thrusting his hips forward as he came, brought Snape off as he shot pearly white come all over his hand and Potter's stomach.

Potter's deflated cock eventually popped out, and Potter fell, on top of Snape, to be cradled in Snape's arms.

His eyes were closed and Potter wasn't moving.

Snape's guess was that he was dead.

Inching his fingers onto the night-table, Snape reached over and grabbed his wand, casting a Wordless Cleaning Charm over them both, before Summoning the edge of the quilts that had fallen loose mid-coitus and covered himself and Potter.

"Nox," he whispered.

He was asleep before the lights fully dimmed, the last thought in his head was about how Potter looked as he came...

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

Snape was seeing a very odd dream.

It was dark.

And Harry was speaking to him.

"Snape, take me..."

…

"Snape?"

"Hmmm?"

"Take me!"

Harry was rubbing himself on Snape's leg...

Take?

"Sleep, Potter. I'm not going anywhere..."

Something very soft and very warm was touching the head of his cock.

Snape's eyes snapped open to see Harry, sitting astride Snape and rocking himself against Snape's stomach, clutching his sizeable erection!

It's not a dream, then...

"I'm not even-" he began, looking down.

He was.

He was HARD.

Still, if it's not a dream...

Somehow, he had the presence of mind to reach for his wand and cast a inner Cleaning Charm on Harry's arse, before reaching over and upending the huge tub of a Sunflower Oil bottle that Harry must have placed on the night-table at some point tonight.

It hit him on the head and it fucking hurt.

Harry heard him, because the offending bottle was taken away immediately and replaced onto the night-table but further away, and Snape's hurting head was kissed by warm and pliant lips until the pain became a distant memory.

He pushed Harry away a bit, to sit on his legs, while he rubbed Dittany on his cock.

Then pulled Harry forward, and rubbed Dittany all over Harry's arse with the same hand.

He realised that Harry probably meant for Snape to fuck him, but he was half asleep and didn't want to bollix it up. So he just...

Pulled Harry under the covers with him, and, Harry's arse cheeks spooning Snape's erection, he was slowly rubbing himself against the cleft of Harry's arse until he was fully erect.

Delicious boy. Snape felt pre-come form at the end of his cock, and rubbed more fervently against Harry, growing harder at the thought of smearing his essence on Harry's hole, marking the Boy-Who-Lived as his own...

Then he reached over for Harry's cock, and met Harry's hand, grasping his own erection.

"Snape..." Harry trembled in pleasure, as Snape rutted himself on Harry's arse and squeezed Harry's fingers around Harry's own erection at the same time.

Harry moaned deliciously and that moan went straight to Snape's already hard and leaking cock.

Together, rutting and wanking and thrusting and pulling, Snape brought the boy to orgasm, and, a few seconds later, decorated Harry's arse with his own sticky offering.

A Cleaning Charm worked its way over himself, then he felt the bed dip as Harry settled back under the covers, his head on Snape's shoulder.

Harry's nose burrowed somewhere in the vicinity of Snape's armpit, but he seemed to let out a contented sigh as his arms wound, almost of their own accord, around Snape.

Snape didn't mind.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

He woke up at the same time as always, but as he made to get out of bed, an arm reached over and pulled him back. A mouth found his and kissed him softly.

"Why aren't you asleep?"

"Had to check on James. Haven't fallen asleep yet." Sleep-tinted lips whispered against Snape's own. "But I don't see any reason to fall back asleep now..."

Harry reached over Snape's head for the vial of lube and liberally coated Snape's cock, running his hand up and down Snape's manhood, and drawing a gasp out of the older man...

"Potter, one of these days, you will get EXACTLY what you are clamouring for!" Snape gasped out as Harry lingered on the head of Snape's cock, licking the salty, glistening head, and pointedly ignoring Snape.

"Oh, yesssss, please," Harry whispered against Snape's mouth, his breath sending shivers down Snape's spine. And somehow those shivers went right to Snape's cock... Harry was really too good at trying Snape's patience!

Abruptly Snape flipped them over and, for a brief moment that Harry's bum was in the air, Snape smacked it smartly. Harry moaned and Snape felt an erection being rubbed into his thighs.

Potter really was a wicked boy. To get off on... and here Snape had to smirk... being disciplined.

Now wonder he was an incorrigible rule breaker.

But he wouldn't have seen past Snape's unforgiving exterior if he wasn't...

Harry spread his legs as Snape knelt between them, the boy's erection bobbing up from his groin. Just to torture him, Snape wrapped his own hand around Potter's length and pumped him, reminiscent of what Potter had done to him...

Potter arched up off the bed, mewling."Oh, yes, please, please, more...!"

Snape tried not to think about the state of his own erection as he slicked up Potter's arse, but to succeed he had to take the edge off, even a bit, so he rutted the head of his cock against Harry's opening, not pushing in. He hissed when Harry thrust his hips forward, almost pushing Snape inside...

Any more of this, and he wouldn't need to penetrate the boy.

Slowly he inserted a finger into the boy's arse, wiggling it around, and stretched Potter's hole.

Harry moaned and rutted his arse into the bed, eyes glazed in pleasure, attempting to get friction on ANY part of his body, not only his erection.

"M-more!" he begged, and Snape accommodated him, adding a second finger and scissored them, stretching Potter's arse further, adding another finger and poking around until he found a particularly pleasurable spot...

Harry bucked upwards as Snape found it. He reached blindly for his own erection, gripping it...

Enough was enough.

Snape carefully took his fingers out of Potter's arse and replaced them with his cock, sliding slowly into Potter's slick, wet channel with trembling fingers.

He took a breath. And another. Then he started to thrust, first slowly, shallowly, and then faster.

Potter's hand working on his own erection matched Snape's rhythm as Snape rode Potter's arse, Harry's hand flying on his prick faster and faster until...

He came a half a second before Harry did, pumping himself in the boy's arse and thrusting himself once, too more times, and once again, before he felt Potter's arse clench around him as the boy came, spattering his own stomach and even Snape's chest as he did so.

Snape wondered how he could ever be expected to give Potter up. Completely spent, he ran his finger in a bit of Potter's come and brought it to his lips, tasting the boy's essence.

Potter watched him, eyes widening in surprise.

If it were anyone other than Potter, Snape wouldn't have done it.

Nothing else would be strong enough to make him want to embarrass himself like that.

Strangely enough, he did not mind so much with Harry.

Nor did he when Harry, reaching for him, pulled Snape down for a kiss, even though he would not fail to taste himself in Snape's mouth.

They kissed leisurely like this for a time, just enjoying the feel of the other's mouth, the post-sex taste, sleep-tinted and come mixed, and yet deliciously, infinitely, wonderfully, wonderfully pleasurable...

Snape pulled away when he saw Potter's eyes close, realising that it really was too early for too much of a good thing. For Potter, at least...

Disentangling himself from Potter, Snape got out of bed. Reaching for his wand, he cast a Cleaning Charm over himself and Harry. Then he tucked the covers up around the Boy-Who-Lived (so that he would not get cold and awaken, wondering where Snape had gone, Snape told himself) and got up.

He picked his clothing up from the floor and briefly wondered if he should toss them in the laundry...

He tossed the under clothes into the wash instead, getting fresh ones, washing up, and getting dressed in the loo, fixing his robes to lie flat and proper with the proper charms.

Before leaving, he took one last look at his bed, gazing fondly at Harry for a moment, an odd, almost content smile gracing his features.

Before he turned on his heels and, closing the door to the bedroom softly, went downstairs to greet the new day.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

After finishing his own breakfast, he left Potter's (and James') portion under a Warming Charm and went to the parlour to get his cloak.

When he failed to find them in the usual place, his brow furrowed, until he remembered just what he had done with it.

"Accio my cloak!" he whispered, pointing his wand at the entrance to his laboratory.

A crumpled ball of cloth flew at him from downstairs, and Snape caught it, saddened. He remembered the reason it was in such a state...

Something fell out of the pocket when he unfurled the cloak, and he bent down and picked it up.

The little car he got for her...

He held it between thumb and forefinger, contemplating.

What good was it if she wasn't around? Pathetic. As soon as she was gone, he'd turned into...

He shook his head to clear his thoughts.

A promise was a promise.

Smoothing out his cloak of even the minutest wrinkles with a spell, Snape came around the back of the house, to the shed he and Harry shared, and placed the little car on the hay-strewn floor. Finite Incantatem! he intoned and the car was back to its original size.

It looked a bit the worse for wear, after taking a tumble down to the floor, so he cast Reparo at it for good measure, and was gratified when the doors and mirrors of the little car straightened and even shone at him in the semi gloom of the shed.

Snape thought, looking closer, that the car looked brand-new (if not for a layer of grime, covering it). The Repair spell must have fixed all the injuries that the little cloud car had attained since its creation. He promised himself that he'd wash the little car before Aria came, in future...

If she ever did.

Damn it. And the day started out so well, too...

His thoughts grim as a thundercloud, Snape left the cottage and Apparated.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

The day failed to get any better when Snape appeared in Diagon Alley (disguised, of course).

He was asked to leave the Apothecary after destroying, as the shopkeeper called it, priceless, irreplaceable ingredients.

"It's rancid!" Snape said viciously as he took out his wand and blew apart the vial. It fell apart on the counter, splattering the tabletop. And the vendor.

The smell that wafted up from the broken remains of the phial left no room for doubt that Snape was right.

Unfortunately, no one cared as all the present customers shuffled to get out of the store, pursued by the awful stench.

The vendor glared at Snape as though it were all Snape's fault that he will now be short on business.

Oh yes. As though failing to cast a proper Preservation Charm were all Snape's fault.

Nevertheless, Snape chose to leave with the other customers, realising that the shopkeeper will not be agreeing with Snape's side of things.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

Snape decided to refill his stores of Dittany back home – and bought a few satchels of the dried herbs from the herbologist down the street from the ill-reputed potions store.

He made a stop in the Apothecary in Diagon Alley. Although more expensive, one could be sure about the quality of the ingredients there – and bought a small portion of ground pixie wings.

Upon leaving, the neighbouring store caught his eyes.

It wasn't open the last time Snape had been in Diagon Alley.

There weren't any rotten potions ingredients there, for which Snape was grateful.

The prices were exorbitant, and he realised that he would not be frequenting this particular store, Snape concluded as he observed the items under the display glass.

He had almost turned around to leave, however, when something did catch his eye.

The asking price of the items did not match the amounts of the adjacent items.

Snape raised his eyes and caught the vendor's look.

"Had something gotten your fancy, Sir?" the man asked politely.

Snape pointed to the items.

The smile disappeared from the man's features. He would not be making a profit off of this one, then...

"Relics. I only keep them out here for the history..."

"Why aren't you charging more for them?" Snape inquired.

"I suppose I could." The man laughed softly. "But I have too much conscience. They are worthless."

"But they are exquisite."

"Aye, and that is the only reason I keep them out here. They are good-for-nothing trinkets, in all respects."

"How so?"

"I cannot tell you how many times they were returned to me. Story's always the same. They don't work. Or they don't fit. Or even We put them on just fine, but they cracked and fell off..." The vendor sighed. "No. I have resigned myself that these items will stay in my shop until the end of my days. My children will probably be trying to sell them still, years down the line..."

"You mentioned something about relics..." Snape inquired.

"I still get a few in here, who still come in, asking me about the story, and purchase them, for posterity's sake. But I have always gotten them back. The magic's worn off, they say." He looked wistful. "Or perhaps there is a curse on them..."

The word curse peaked Snape's interest. "I would be interested to hear the story," he asked.

"Well, it goes like this," the man looked excited at the prospect of telling the tale, regardless of his view of the items in question. Perhaps he was related to Beedle, Snape thought.

"Years ago, many more years before our present time, they were supposedly Merlin's wedding present to Arthur and Guinevere." the man smiled at Snape. "Believed to have held a special magic all of their own. Nothing was too good for Merlin to give to Arthur, where Arthur's happiness was concerned. Such was his attachment to the boy. So he fashioned them, and, as is believed, even charmed them himself..."

"But alas. Even while the rings lasted, the love of Guinevere and Arthur had not. And Merlin, heartbroken at the farce of which Arthur and Guinevere had made of their bonding, cursed them where they stood for their faithlessness..."

Snape interrupted the man here, certain that the legend could not be accurate. "But Merlin had not killed Arthur and his wife..."

"Oh no," the kindly wizard agreed. "I meant the rings. But according to legend," here he pointed to the items Snape had picked out. "They cracked and could not be worn again. Merlin's lesson to Arthur. He would get no blessing, share in no part of the magic, until he restored his faith..."

Snape knew how it ended. Arthur had not stayed a husband to Guinevere. Neither was Guinevere particularly worried over the loss. Not when Sir Lancelot came along...

"May I take a closer look at them?" Snape asked.

"Sure, son," the vendor replied, rattling an entire chain of keys until, coming to the correct one, he fitted it to lock and opened the drawer.

They did not shine brightly, as such treasures were supposed to – glorifying their wearers' hands with their superficial shine, an inspiration not to love but avarice.

But, as Snape's hand warmed the two tiny metal pieces, he came to a decision.

"I would like to purchase them," Snape told the man.

The man's eyes widened. "Oh, lad, I like you. But whatever your are thinking of, reconsider. You can have your choice of any others..." his hand swept over the entire glass display. "Pick out any other pair. I'll give you a right good discount, too. I don't want to see you making a mistake, and if you go through with this, I just know you will be back tomorrow, asking for your galleons back. Trust my experience."

"Now you seem like a sensible young lad. Your young lady is mighty fortunate-"

But here Snape had to correct him.

"Our union is cursed. Whatever magic Merlin might or might not have worked, will hardly make a diference to us..."

The man's eyes widened... "But, surely..."

"My partner is already married," Snape said with a dull finality that echoed painfully in his own ears. "As I said, it makes no difference to us. I cannot afford any other such tokens. I would like to have something."

He didn't say it. But they both heard what he would have said. Something to remember.

"Alright, lad. If you say so," the man said, quiet, as he wrapped the items Snape had pointed out. He would have even discounted the items, but Snape, true to proper form, would have none of it. He paid the full asking price (it wasn't exorbitant, anyway, as he had to tell the kindly old man a few times before the latter finally acquiesced), and left the shop, the little wooden rectangular box hidden in the folds of his robes.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Upon returning home, Snape had set up his work space and was now brewing.

The antidote was slowly simmering in the cauldron behind him, no longer requiring his attention except for the occasional, perfunctory glance.

He extinguished the flame under this cauldron now, and cast an Insulation Charm. This antidote had a very fast rate of expiration, but would last longer if maintained at a lukewarm temperature.

Snape turned back to his brewing cauldron now, and stirred it absentmindedly as he felt a pair of eyes on him.

Harry.

"Where've you been to all day?" Harry inquired, looking in on Snape. "I haven't seen you since morning..." He flushed, and, Snape had to admit, a warm feeling had made it into his own chest too, at the memory...

"...James and I just got back. Snape?" Harry called, when the man gave no indication of having heard.

He nodded. "And how was your day?"

"Would have been better with you," Harry told Snape, laughing. "I just came in to ask if you'd have tea with me."

"I've had things to do," he answered cryptically.

"I see that. What are you brewing?" the boy inquired.

"Potter. This must be the first time you have ever shown any interest in Potions. Willingly. Can you honestly tell me that you are interested?"

"Well, when you put it that way..." Harry came in and wrapped his arms around Snape. "No."

Harry's response was so predictable that Snape let out a bark of laughter at Harry's bluntness.

"Brat."

"Now I think you're confusing me with James..."

Snape looked at Harry seriously, considering him. "You are Harry Potter, graduate of Hogwarts, terrible Potions student. Am I mistaken?"

"Well, when you put it like that..."

Snape caught Harry's chin and tilted the boy's face up until he was looking into bespectacled green eyes. His mouth came down on Harry's, and kissed him lazily, ridiculously slow, focused on nothing except Harry, their proximity sending shivers down Snape's spine as his tongue danced softly, oh-so-slowly along Harry's lips; at times parting them and feeling his tongue meeting Harry's, the shivers continuing to dance along his spine.

He never wanted this to end. Snape had never known anyone who would give him as much pleasure, even by kissing idly like they were doing, as with Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.

Finally the pulled apart, Snape looking hazily at Harry, eyes full of pleasure.

"So... tea?" Harry repeated, voice grown inexplicably hoarse on these two simple words.

Snape allowed himself to lean in and leave one more kiss imprinted on Harry's mouth.

"Yes," he whispered against Harry's lips, and his breath on Harry's mouth made the boy shiver.

Harry nodded, eyes half-lidded, hand on Snape's elbow (to steady himself?) as he stepped away.

"Half an hour," he told Snape. "Will you be finished brewing by then?"

"I only need ten more minutes," Snape answered. Though he needed to check. The potion might have finished while he was kissing Harry...

He did tend to lose track of time when their mouths tended to meet.

"Ten more minutes, then," Harry stepped away from Snape and disappeared up the stairs.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

James was on the top of the steps as Snape ascended, and, quite without thinking (or knowing what came over him, really), Snape picked the child up in his arms with an exaggerated WOOSH sound, making the boy giggle as he found himself very high up all of a sudden.

It was probably the surprise that did it. Snape had never been able to make a child laugh just because, he, Snape, meant it to happen.

James' small hand reached out and tangled in Snape's hair.

The only time children did this was right before they were about to pull on said hair, not minding the discomfort that this would cause...

James did not complete the motion with a pull to Snape's hair, however.

Just held it in his fist, looking at Snape.

"James? What're you up to?" Harry's voice called from the kitchen, nearing, as he approached.

"There you are," he told Snape when he came out of the kitchen and saw the older man.

"Tea's ready," he said unnecessarily. As though he needed to invite Snape...

Then, taking James from Snape, he went back into the kitchen.

Following after Harry and settling himself in his regular place at the table, cups already out and tea pot already stewing the tea under a thick cotton cozy.

He's really not so bad, Snape concluded, watching Harry give James his bottle, filled with tea and more sugar than Snape himself would have preferred...

But James did not seem to notice Snape's preference as the rubber nipple made it into his mouth and he sucked, drinking his tea.

Content, Snape turned attention to his own tea cup, and poured tea for himself and Harry.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

Before he disappeared in his potions lab once more, Harry caught Snape's elbow and smiled.

James did not notice as he continued to drink his own tea, looking almost majestic in his High Chair.

Harry steals one kiss from Snape's lips, half-hidden from James' young eyes by the kitchen door, before leaving Snape to finish brewing whatever it was he was making.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

In the evening, potions successfully completed, cooled and under various protective charms (Anti-Shatter for the vial, Preservation Charm, to name a few).

He was currently behind the tabletop, staring at a familiar rectangular, wooden box.

Could he do this? Now it seemed an act of limitless arrogance, to force himself on Harry like that.

When only this morning, he had thought of it differently. As a gesture denoting respect (really, Severus? Respect? You only feel respect for the Boy-Who-Lived, do you?)...

Finalising his decision, he reached a trembling hand and, taking up the object, left his potions laboratory.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

The potion was on the night-table (the other inside its drawer) when Snape, dressed in naught by his bathrobe, over his pants, sat on the bed he should probably be thinking of as his own and Harry's at this point, when Harry came in.

"James is asleep now," Harry let Snape know, beginning to undress. "You wanted to tell me something?"

Snape nodded. But he waited until Harry could give Snape his full attention. And so, robes hanging off a chair and Harry in a bathrobe, much like Snape (Snape only ever kept bathrobes hanging in his loo, for casual use), sat on the bed, looking at Snape expectantly.

He cleared his throat, uncomfortable to begin this conversation, but knowing that it had to take place.

"As you know, Harry, in the magical world intimate relations are taken very seriously..." Snape paused, looking at Harry.

Harry nodded, for Snape to continue.

"And as such, proper wizards and witches do not tread on sexual matters lightly. This activity is in high regard in the Wizarding World, and is never entered into lightly." Snape frowned. "Except by the most improper types in our world. But their punishment finds them rather quickly."

"Why are you telling me this, Snape?" Harry asked, his heart beginning to hammer. Does Snape want to end it all with me? Or is he... is he going to go and reveal what we have been up to these past few days...

"You mean more to me than just our having sex, Harry," Snape told him seriously. "And while you might not know the connotation of engaging in plainly carnal relations in our world, you may be certain that I do. And as such, it falls to me to take the next step. We cannot go on as we have been."

Next step? Cannot go on?

"Are you breaking up with me?" Harry asked, voice turning shriller on the last word. He closed his mouth shut abruptly on the embarrassing sound.

"No. I could never break up with you..." Snape said, meaning every word, and Harry's heart hammered for an entirely different reason now...

Snape's dark eyes were boring into Harry's. And in them, he saw...

He took out the wooden, rectangular box from the folds of his robe.

Harry's eyes widened. Was Snape... going to PROPOSE?

As though he had read Harry's intentions, Snape interrupted them.

"Ours will be an act of commitment to each other on the basis of mutual respect. I do know you are married, Harry. This is not a matrimonial bond."

Snape opened the clasps of the box with the pads of his thumbs, and Harry saw two small bronze bands, badly tarnished, lacking any gemstones whatsoever, inside.

There was no other word to describe them. They were ugly.

But then again, so was Snape. If one looked from the perspective of the superficial...

Snape went on to explain that this is a pre-governmental rite. The Ministry for Magic will not be made aware of this because this is ancient magic that was let go of in favour of a much simpler bonding ritual. He went on to explain that at this point in the Wizarding World, bonding rituals have the single use of being solely matrimonial, but ancient rites could convey a whole spectre of functions.

And this rite, conveys regard.

"Why, Snape?" Harry asked. He did not understand why Snape would bother – didn't he already know Harry's regard for the older man? They have been friends for a little while now, and, whatever this was, surely Snape could see that it wasn't casual? For God's sake, Harry wanted to have sexual relations with someone other than his wife! If Snape wasn't important to him, Harry wouldn't have done any of it.

"Because you matter, Harry," Snape said very softly, yet very definitively, his eyes looking into Harry's, intent on the minutest detail. "Because should something happen," he added. Like us being forced to part... Snape could not be certain about his wife's motivations, and what would await him in future in any regard greater than the little bit of faith that he had in the Ministry for Magic justice system.

He didn't trust the Ministry for Magic any more than he trusted his ball-and-chain.

Snape smiled grimly. The words seemed more than a metaphor, of late...

He wanted a happy memory, plain and simple. A memory of having actually been part of a good relationship, however briefly...

He couldn't finish.

Because I want to have something. Of you. Of us...

Harry's arms went around Snape, clutching at him.

"You're not going anywhere, Snape," Harry told the man firmly. "We don't need any symbols..."

Snape shook his head. "I just want to have something of you, Harry." There, he'd said it. He would surely get it now, revealing his weakness, his need to share something with Harry...

….Something of a Forever, if not a Happily Ever After...

He looked down.

A hand came underneath Snape's chin, reminiscent of a move, many times before, that Snape had done to Harry.

It was Harry's turn to lift Snape's chin with a finger and look into Snape's face searchingly.

"You're the best relationship I ever had, Harry," Snape said softly. "I want to remember this..." he gulped, but went ahead and told Harry anyway. "...Forever."

It took barely a moment before Harry realised what his answer was going to be.

"What do we need to do?" Harry asked, his decision unmistakeable.

"Nothing complicated," Snape answered.

He took out his wand, and holding it in one hand, took the rectangular, wooden box in the other.

_Corpus, cor, anima mea, et mundus tibi_, Snape voiced, and Harry saw the glimmer of something that looked like letters forming, in the glow inside the inner surfaces of both rings.

He picked one of the rings out of the box. Keeping it no farther from Snape s to nullify the incantation, he saw that words actually were being written inside the rings as Snape continued to chant, his words sounding as mournful and yet, beautiful, as phoenix song. The letters first glowed golden and then became dark-grey, looking like indentations made in metal as more words appeared, in beautiful golden glow, before settling down into quiet stability...

Harry wondered if that was really what love was. Not the pretty, golden glow of a new relationship, but this very stability of coming to love the person you are with, not for the better or for the worse, but for the understanding...

_votum aeterna, deus et fata volendi_

Harry set the ring back, they way it was situated. As he did so, he felt a warm tendril of magic envelop his hand. He shivered. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling.

_in caritate et cum fide ac veritatis_

_quamdiu enim sumus, in corpore et anima_

It really did sound as thought Snape were singing, and lost in the music, Harry realised how beautiful the sound of Snape's voice actually was...

And then Snape was silent, and only the echo of the uttered words rang in Harry's ears. But even in the silence, Harry realised that he loved this sombre man. Snape was beautiful even when there were no words...

The silence resonated when Snape, reaching a hand towards Harry (the hand that, a moment before, held the rings), took a strand of Harry's hair between his fingers and, with the motion of his wand, cut off a lock of Harry's hair.

Taking one of the rings, he wrapped Harry's hair around the circumference of it as he whispered,

_Polliceor me diligere, honorare,_

_et verebimini tibi_...

The hair glowed bright silver for a moment, before absorbing into the metal of the ring and disappearing without a trace.

"Promise accepted," Snape said softly as he watched the ring on his finger turn silver, as ancient, protective runes covered the outside just as the words of love and promise filled the inside...

Then he slid the ring onto his finger (his ring finger it was, but Harry didn't dare wonder what Snape meant by it), and was looking oddly at Harry.

As though he wanted to ask for something, but didn't dare...

Harry preempted him.

"Is it my turn now?"

"What?" Snape asked.

"Do I now do the same thing with the second ring?" Harry asked, fingering a bit of Snape's hair.

"You are married. I wasn't planning on-" Snape began.

"You said these aren't wedding vows. If they're not, why can't I made the same vow to you?" Harry countered.

"You can, I suppose," Snape, confused, answered. "Is it something you want to do?"

"It seems rather an empty vow, if only one of us is promising anything," Harry half-smiled.

"Alright," Snape agreed. "Do you know what to say?"

Harry shook his head. "Talk with me through it?"

In response, Snape took hold of Harry's hand and put the second ring on his finger. His middle finger it was – this was not a romantic settlement. Snape, it seems, respected Harry's attachments as much as he was promising to respect Harry...

"Harry," Snape whispered, and there was so much more that he didn't say, imprinted in the timbre of his voice, than what he merely said...

Raising Harry's hand, he kissed the bony protrusions, filled with more gratitude than he had ever had towards a single human being...

Then he let Harry's hand rest on his lap as he took hold of a lock of his own hair, severed it and wrapped it around Harry's finger where the ring was.

"Now repeat after me..." Snape taught Harry.

_Polliceor diligere_,

"Polliceor diligere," Harry repeated, and the ring on Harry's finger warmed.

_Honorare_,

"Honorare," Harry repeated once again, following Snape's lead. Tendrils of brilliant white shone through the tarnished metal of the ring, through Harry's hair, fixed to the ring by Snape's long fingers...

_Et verebimini tibi_.

"Et verebimini tibi," Harry finished, his hand cradled in Snape's.

The ring on Harry's finger was identical to the one on Snape's, now.

CRACK!

Harry's wedding band broke apart, falling to the floor with a rattling, rolling sound.

Harry bent to pick up the ring.

When he sat back next to Snape, the man was looking at Harry. Pensive.

"That wasn't supposed to happen," he finally said. "Our promise has nothing to do with matrimonial bonds..."

He picked up the broken pieces of the ring.

"Repair it, Harry," he whispered, handing Harry his wand.

"Reparo!" Harry incanted. The broken pieces twitched in Harry's hand, but did not reform.

Snape stared at Harry, eyes wide.

He reached a trembling hand for his wand, which Harry placed back in Snape's hand.

"Reparo," Snape whispered, and the ring pieces reformed.

Snape put the wedding band back where it belonged on Harry's finger.

They were quiet a long time after that.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

Snape took a long time in the loo, getting ready for bed.

The ring from Harry glittered on his finger, bright and promising, but something still nagged at him.

The strange behaviour of Potter wedding band. Why did it shatter? And moreover, why had Potter been unable to repair it, but he himself, proved successful? He knew that intent coloured magic, of course, but to assume that Potter did not want that wedding band back on his finger would be too presumptuous for Snape to conclude...

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

His worrisome thoughts dissipated when he saw Harry waiting for him in his bed.

There was something he wished to verify – something that would tell him just how well-suited he and Harry were...

Taking the vial of potion out of his robes pocket, Snape undressed and left the robe on the chair next to his side of the bed.

"What's that?" Harry asked when he saw the vial.

"Something I was wondering about for a few days now," Snape replied.

"What?"

Sitting on the bed, in full view of Harry, Snape answered.

"If you and I were man and woman, would we have suited," Snape asked Harry. "I made this potion because I want to find out..."

"What does it do?" Harry asked, half-realising that he already had an idea.

"A temporary transformation," Snape answered. "Would you care to indulge me?"

"It's... reversible?" Harry reiterated.

"Yes. You need have no worries on this regard."

"Alright."

Snape brought the vial to his lips and tipped it, opening his mouth.

The potion tasted like cinnamon wrapped in rose petals, but the transformation was immediate.

He was grateful he added Dittany to it, however – he never did like the cloying scent of flowers.

Harry must have seen something in Snape's face, because, when the vial was half-full, Harry took Snape's hand, the one holding the vial, away from the older man's mouth and out of his hand.

Then Harry kissed the older man, and Snape's eyes fell closed, Harry's mouth moving against his quickly becoming the most delicious feeling in the world, quite effectively taking the taste of potion out of Snape's mouth. He dimly heard the vial's soft thud as it was set on the night-table, but couldn't be bothered to think any more as Harry's mouth caressed his own.

His fingertips found his wand and he dimmed the lights with a wordless Nox, leaving only the single candle on Harry's night-table as they continued to kiss.

Making love with a man in a woman's body was completely different to doing so as a man.

Perhaps it had something to do with the nakedness of his skin. As a female, Snape found that he had a lot less hair – covering his arms, his legs, his torso – and a lot more nerve endings open and sensing Harry's movements as the younger man rolled on top of Snape.

It was just a kiss to the neck, but then why did it ignite Snape so, making him feel aflame with desire, as if he would spontaneously combust if Harry stopped touching him?

The nipples were a different case entirely.

When Potter's hands brushed them, Snape, hardly predicting this behaviour if someone would have asked him about it, moaned in pleasure as Harry petted his breasts. Wetness formed between his legs at Potter's contact, and hazily Snape wondered if Potter had made him come...

He felt the long, hard length of Potter's erection and rubbed himself on it, earning a ragged moan from Potter and some interesting new sensations for himself. His groin pulsed, inwards, as though it sensed the proximity of Potter's cock and wanted nothing more than, deeper acquaintance.

When Potter took one of Snape's nipples into his mouth, Snape's whole world went brilliantly white as Potter alternated sucking, then licking in between nibbling... Snape himself preferred the sucking, which he let Potter know, quite vocally, with just one word, gasped out into Potter's mouth.

"More!"

Harry complied admirably.

When Potter entered him, stilling when he was sheathed inside of Snape, allowing him to get used to the intrusion, Snape was in bliss.

Only dimly, somewhere inside his brain, did he remember that sex for the first time was supposed to hurt. For women.

But the little voice was completely drowned out when Potter started to move inside him.

"So wet! So tight!" Potter kept on a steady dialogue of encouragements as he thrust, deeper and deeper, with increasing friction, inside Snape.

Then Snape learned another trick.

"Grip me, Snape," Harry whispered against Snape's ear, and Snape shivered and became (impossibly, even) wetter, at the tingle that went down his spine at Harry's words.

When he realised what Harry meant and squeezed his inner muscles around Harry's cock, Potter's thrusting became infinitely more pleasurable.

For a brief moment, it felt as though he were going to die from pleasure – the waves of it seemed never-ending as Potter rhythmically thrust inside Snape, over and over, and Snape could do nothing except gasp, could not form any words because all he saw was a shimmering haze where Harry was, above him, and the unrelenting waves, coming, cresting and ebbing away, and it was brilliant, and he clenched at Potter's erection inside of him, unwilling to ever let him go, as Potter moaned and said something incomprehensible (something that sounded like aurghh!). Snape felt blissful, and so completely unlike anything he had ever felt before as he felt something warm and thick and spurting from Potter's cock fill his insides as Potter collapsed on top of him.

He never realised that sex could be like this, came the thought, when he and Harry were lying, arms and legs entwined, as they attempted to get their breaths back, Snape's nose in Harry's hair.

"Bloody brilliant," he whispered into the darkness, thankful that it was too dark for Harry to see the foolish grin that was plastered on Snape's face that he seemingly could do nothing about because all of his muscles seem to have been melted into sludge in the wake of his last, toe-curling climax.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

That was why, when Potter pressed a vial to his lips and asked Snape to fuck him, Snape didn't have the heart to say no.

He drank the phial of antidote as Harry drank the remaining half of the potion, until he sensed that the transformations had begun (himself, male, Harry, female), and set the potions vials back on the night-table, half full as they waited to ride out the effects of their respective changes.

They played around for a while, Snape leisurely kissing the shell of Harry's ear, down his neck, licking his way down Harry's back at the special place between his shoulder blades.

Harry was no more prepared for the new sensations that assaulted him than Snape had been.

But he did beg more freely, desperately, and much more often.

And more beautifully, Snape concluded as he pounced on Harry, erection hard between his thighs and wanting nothing more than to devour the Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry gave as good as he got.

Kissing, for one, was just as irresistible for Snape as it had been for Harry. But, Snape had to concede, in this form, the advantage was most definitely Harry's.

Warm, moist, pliant lips, that seemed determined to find Snape's most sensitive spot and take furious advantage, until Snape was gasping, cock hard and smearing pre-come on Harry's thigh, and his fingers splaying Harry open in an attempt to get back some of his own.

Until his fingers entered Harry's hole, he was fairly certain he got the upper hand. But when Harry twisted, and Snape felt all of that delicious wetness, the clenching, throbbing muscles there just for him... delicious, lovely, wonderful...

He wasn't sure he was succeeding, even when Harry would momentarily freeze in his ministrations as Snape caressed what must have been a particularly wonderful spot that would make Harry mewl in pleasure and press down on Snape's hand, begging Snape to take him...

They played the back-and-forth for a while, and Snape was fairly certain that the winner was not himself, as Harry clambered over Snape and, a moment later, Snape's cock-head was engulfed in warm, squelching wetness.

Then Harry contracted himself around Snape and Snape's vision went grey as he nearly came.

And that... is when Harry started to move.

Not deeply, his movements seemed geared towards making Snape impatient and driving him completely spare, it seemed. Because Harry seemed in no rush as he rode Snape's cock, allowing Snape no deeper than Harry himself wanted, withholding that ultimate pleasure by teasing Snape with too-slow movements that were unsatisfying and insanely frustrating.

At least until Snape got a bit of his own back by pulling Harry's face down into a kiss.

When they pulled away, Harry actually allowed Snape to set the rhythm, as Snape thrust himself, unimpeded and resolute, inside Harry, into that ever-narrowing tunnel as Snape felt Harry grip the head of his cock with his inner muscles and it was good... so good... too good not to be pulled over the edge and come and come inside of Harry...

And then they really were coming, and Snape didn't know how he managed to last long enough to bring Harry off. Perhaps it was that they had had sex before this, and this had helped, stilling Snape's passion until he felt Harry contract around him., in climax. And if Snape could hold out no longer after that, surely that was alright...? If it weren't, he could always make the potion again, and they could keep taking it in turns, until they perfected their mastery...

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

Morning dawned bright and early for Snape.

Actually, the sky was still grey when Snape opened his eyes. Harry was asleep next to him, and Snape wondered what had woken him.

Then he heard James fussing from the next room.

Oh, keep quiet, I'm coming, Snape thought as he lifted his side of the quilt and got out of bed, throwing a robe over himself, his feet feeling around (under the bed, too) for his slippers.

The antidote vial on the night-table drew Snape's attention. After writing Harry a brief note and placing it in front of the vial, Snape got up and headed in the direction of James' room.

If he were already awake, it only made sense that he'd check on James and save Harry the bother...

When he saw James, and here Snape couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something seemed off.

Awake and moving around, James was doing everything but making noise in his bed as he waited for an adult to take notice and take care of him.

This was strange. As though James were deliberately NOT making noise. But that didn't make sense...

"Come on up here James," Snape extended his arms towards the boy to lift him, and got another surprise.

Because James floated up to meet Snape's arms, Snape lifting him out of the air more than out of his bed. As if James knew how to fly...

How did James learn to fly in the first place?

Snape shook his head, dispelling the thought. He sat James down on the quilt-covered table top and began undressing him.

Snape knew James. The boy was a terrible flier.

He needed a fresh pair of pants to put James into...

With a soft thump, a pair of James' pants butted into Snape's head. Snape picked them up, now totally confused.

"James? Did you Summon yourself a new pair of pants?" Snape asked the boy seriously.

But James, bare of clothing from the waist down, ignored Snape in favour of playing with his feet.

The quiet...

The flying...

The pants, for crying out loud...

All were things that he, Snape, had wished for!

But that was impossible. He wasn't even holding his wand, at the moment!

Something glimmered on Snape's right hand.

"Let's just do a test, then, shall we?" Snape mused softly as he dressed James in new pants.

"Accio James' trousers! Snape commanded, and threw out his hand towards the boy's closet.

He was thinking of the boy's green-and-violet striped ones.

Imagine Snape's surprise, when those same trousers smacked into Snape's hand a moment later.

The silver band seemed to glow all-too-innocuously on his finger, but Snape knew better.

The ring grants the power of wandless magic! Snape concluded.

Oh, what a wondrous turn of events! What was it that the man told Snape – about the ring being a fake, about it being returned because of dissatisfied customers – well, Snape could be certain of one thing.

He didn't need Merlin's limitless magical powers to keep him from returning the ring he bought. Because Snape was quite satisfied with the powers that Merlin's ring did deign to give him...

James was dressed in the green-and-violet pyjamas bottoms, after which the boy headed down the stairs, to the kitchen, in Snape's arms.

Snape tossed James' soiled pants in the rubbish bin on the way downstairs.

Deciding to test his new, wondrous powers (here Snape was using the term loosely), he waved his hand and watched as, one by one, first a fresh bottle (one of James') flew towards Snape as he filled it with milk for the boy, and then the rubber nipple, that Snape affixed to the boy's bottle, and with a thought and single finger, heated the bottle ever-so-slightly, warmth emanating from his fingertip.

He'd never done this before, only ever preferring to cast actual Warming Charms.

But, as he held the now warm bottle, Snape realised that he was successful once again.

He tipped a bit of milk onto a spare bit of skin, testing it, and then gave it to James as they headed up the stairs.

Mere parlour tricks. All wizards were capable of doing wandless magic, to a particularly small degree, but...

No one could cast complicated spells wandlessly.

He sat James down into his bed. James was looking up at Snape, expectantly.

"What?" Snape asked.

James pointed to the floor, at a bright, flame-orange lion...

Accio James's lion! Snape commanded, and the toy obediently flew into Snape's hand. He gave the toy to James and settled the boy down, before sitting down on the faraway bed in the corner, out of James' sight.

James would fall back to sleep more readily, if he wasn't excited by the thought of other people, awake and milling about, around him...

Snape's fingertips played with the silver band on his finger. How would it feel, to conjure impressive feats of magic, without a wand, he wondered...

To feel like Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, always knowing the vast amount of power he wielded, and, unlike The Dark Lord, never letting it take control...

"Expecto Patronum," Snape whispered, for no reason in particular, lost in his thoughts...

Imagine his surprise when a doe pranced into the room, bowing its head to Snape, At your command, Master...

Snape was too busy blinking to react.

Bloody hell! If he could Summon a Patronus wandlessly, what couldn't he do?

Quite forgetting about James now, Snape amused himself by testing his magic – discovering what spells he were able to cast without aid of a wand. (James, meanwhile, had grown quite bored of the lion, and of Snape ignoring him, and had fallen asleep, as children tended to do for lack of a more engaging activity. Snape was able to hear his soft breathing as the boy slept).

Rather a lot, he came to the conclusion. And, it occurred to Snape, that Harry will awaken today to the same wondrous changes in his magic, as had occurred in Snape's...

And, while he was a long way from being invincible, this little skill was definitely an advantage to use in dire cases...

If Merlin were still alive, Snape would have gone down to his knees and thanked the man.

And speaking of dire...

He inscribed his name in the air before him, and was gratified to see letters appear, as though written in his script.

Snape smiled, an idea forming in his head...

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

He couldn't remember feeling more comfortable as he sat before the Headmaster of Aria's school, as he finished telling the man that he was here to set up motions for Aria's expulsion from the school.

At first the man was flabbergasted, babbling something about being unable to return the tuition money that was paid in advance for the year, for Ms. Allweather's tutelage.

Snape couldn't care less. They weren't his galleons, after all.

Thanks to Harry, his daughter will finally be able to come home and none of Alison's threats mattered anymore...

Because at last Snape had the means to thwart her...

He finished signing the paperwork ( , as he had practised at home), and was told that the Application of Expulsion will be processed and finalised within the week.

The tuition fees will be returned, as it turned out, but within a month. Owls would be sent out, to the both of them (Mr and Mrs Allweather), later today, Snape was told, as regards Aria's status change.

Snape hoped that by the time Alison received her owl, he and Aria would be long gone from the school.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

Aria was called to the Headmaster's office during breakfast.

Her father was waiting for her.

She looked between the Headmaster and her father.

"As of this moment, you are no longer a student here, Miss Allweather," the Director began. "And as such, you are to go to your dormitory and pack your things.

"Why did you change your mind?" Aria asked as father and daughter walked down the corridor towards the student rooms.

"I missed you," Snape told his daughter honestly. He wasn't sure it was the right time and place to tell her about his new discovery.

"Mother always says I get in her way," Aria mused. "She takes me back to school early on Sunday because she can't bear to have me around for one more day..."

"What does your mother know?" Snape said gruffly, as they neared the room.

Packing was not a time-consuming endeavor. Aria only kept robes out of her trunk, which were Summoned and stowed away in short time.

Along with...

Snape's eyes fell on a shelf above the bed that Aria occupied. There, sitting in a neat row, were all the rabbits that Snape had ever given to his daughter...

"You kept them?" Snape turned to his only child. "But I told you to throw them away when you ran out of Floo powder..."

Aria was putting the rabbits away in her trunk one by one.

"I like them," she told her father, running a finger along the bunny's muzzle. "They have very kind eyes. I couldn't bear to toss them out..."

Feeling oddly sentimental at this revelation, Snape turned away and looked about the room. He had transfigured those bunnies out of match-boxes... His eyes caught sight of an adjacent room.

"Do you have anything left in there?" Snape was left alone in the room, while Aria went to check. The last bunny looked mournfully up at him, and Snape put him inside Aria's school trunk.

Aria came back holding her tooth brush and a toilet bag. These items ended up in the trunk as well.

"Anything else?" he asked his daughter.

"No," Aria replied, looking around the room once more.

Trunk spelled shut and shrunk, Snape put it in the folds of his robes as, together, they made their way out of the school.

And, even though it was not completely necessary (simple hand holding was enough for Contact Apparition), Snape leaned down and picked Aria up in his arms. Her hands, in turn, went around Snape's neck, holding tightly, as though in fear that something stronger than Apparition could tear them apart...

Because they were going home at last.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

When they were home, Snape came upstairs to check on Harry and got the surprise of his life.

"Why haven't you taken the Reversing Potion?" Snape asked. "I left it for you on the night-table..."

"It broke," Harry hedged. "I tried to Repair it, but managed to fix only the vial. The reversing potion did not go back into the vial, though..."

Of course it didn't go in! A different spell entirely was needed for that – a Charm for liquids.

That didn't explain why Potter was so clearly uncomfortable. Why, he almost looked guilty!

But because Snape couldn't understand what Potter could have done to feel guilty about, he decided to let it go for now.

In his laboratory, he ladled another portion into the vial and gave it to Potter to take.

He would have personally made sure that no accidents happened, this time around, but at this moment he heard a Floo call, and went upstairs to answer it.

It was late afternoon, and he had a pretty good idea who was on the other end, demanding a conference...

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

If he were honest, Snape would conclude that he almost missed Alison's appearance as she came through the Floo, eyes spitting flames of anger at Snape.

A notice fell to the floor at Snape's feet. It must've been the school owl the director told him about...

"How dare you, Severus!" Alison hissed out her fury at him, like a snake charging to attack. "I've spent a lot of effort making sure Josephine is accepted at that school..."

Snape couldn't give a dead kniezel's arse for any efforts that involved the school. Doubly, if they came from the likes of her...

"The Director assured me that you will get your monetary refund at the end of the month," he told his ex-wife. He never remembered being so calm in all their previous conversations.

"I realise that it will only be a percentage of the fees you have paid, darling," Snape sneered, turning the endearment into an insult. "And, as I know how much you care for your galleons, I am willing to reimburse you for the full tuition that you have paid to the school."

Alison laughed at that. "With what money, Darling?" Oh, she could give as good as she got. The word spat from her mouth as though it were volcano erupt. "You've probably hexed some poor old witch out of her galleons..."

Snape was infinitely thankful that she did not know him as well as she had concluded.

"You won't get what you came here for this time," Snape told the witch, eyes narrowing into deadly certainty. "I suggest you leave."

"If I leave without her, you can be sure I am going straight to the Aurors!" she screeched. "They will finally know that Severus Snape is alive and you won't see the light of day for a long, long time!"

"And how will you prove your ridiculous claim, darling?" Snape countered. "If you remember, I have ample witnesses to the opposite. The Dark Lord's favourite pet killed the faithless traitor Snape all these seven years ago..."

"You fool!" She laughed. "I have your magical signature when you came and took Josephine out of school! That's all the evidence the Aurors need!"

Ah. So she didn't know that was empty-handed. Snape smirked, wondering if he should tell her that there is no magical signature. Wonderful how wandless magic didn't leave a trace and all that...

But Snape never revealed his secrets.

An idea suddenly came to him.

Accio Snape's Order of Merlin! he Summoned it voicelessly, as a velvet box came sailing into the room. He twitched his wand until it fell into Alison's uncomprehending grasp.

"Open it, dear," Snape suggested, voice soft as cat's fur.

"Do you really believe," Snape went on when Alison complied and her eyes widened in surprise at the contents she saw there, "that the Ministry will allow a recipient of one of these priceless (he really was bending the line here, but he continued) awards to spend the rest of their days rotting in Azkaban?"

He wasn't going to clarify that he could very well end up in the damned place. Perhaps he could bluff his way out of this, and it would never occur to her to test his words. Wonderful, rare things, Orders of Merlin. Very few magicalfolk would go against the physical evidence of one...

And the fact that Alison wouldn't be able to prove that he was viable. Ancient magic rites were wonderfully adept at going around Ministry guidelines. Probably the reason the Ministry was so dead-set to outlaw them...

"My name is clear before the Ministry for Magic, dear," Snape went on. "You can, of course, fulfill your long-standing promise and let them know that Severus Snape is alive. I assure you, however, that their response will not be what you are presently imagining." He put all of his will towards believing that there was at least an ounce of truth in his words. He needed to convince his audience after all...

Alison had gone very pale at Snape's words. Looking for something, anything, to throw at her ex-husband, she remained silent, finding nothing and glaring death at the man who ruined her life.

A voice was coming from the vicinity of the kitchen.

"Da, what's taking you so long? I thought we were going riding..."

Aria stood in the entrance between the kitchen and sitting room, voice trailing off as she caught sight of her mother.

"Josephine! Come here! We're going home!" she ordered her daughter, but Aria made no move to go to her mother.

Furious, Alison gesticulated with her wand.

"Imperio!" the spell left her wand and headed straight for Aria, hitting her in the chest.

"I said, We're Going Home! Get over here, Josephine!" Alison commanded.

Snape hadn't expected that.

Aria stared at her mother.

"I am not going back to that school, mum," she said, not moving a single step towards Alison.

Snape took advantage of Alison's distraction.

"Expelliarmus!" he cast and her wand flew into Snape's hand.

"That is low, even for you," Snape said softly, voice like steel.

"Before, I would have allowed you to walk out of our lives," Snape continued, voice whisper quiet, the words final. "But now you will not get off so easy, my dearest." The word, said in his present tone of voice, was a mockery of the endearment.

Snape opened the Floo network behind Alison with a wave of his wand.

"But now I believe I shall give you a long-standing reminder of just whom you are dealing with..."

"Know that henceforth from this moment on, You will neither see, hear, touch, or otherwise interact with Aria. Until she is of age, when she will be able to, of her own free will, remove the curse I place upon you now. Our union was a mistake, but I will not allow you to take your displeasure out on my daughter. My most fervent wishes that your next union will be everything you deserve."

Aria disappeared from Alison's line of vision as a wind suddenly picked up and sent Alison flying through the opened Floo network behind her, the Order of Merlin falling to the floor where she used to stand.

Disgusted, Snape threw Alison's wand into the Floo after Alison, a second after it closed and he and Aria were left to contemplate the matter of what had just occurred in the sudden silence and gloom of the setting evening, nothing but hearth flames serving as a distraction.

Weary, Snape sat down before the fireplace.

Aria sat down next to him silently.

"If you wish, you are welcome to go home to your mother," he finally offered, looking down at his hands. "I lied to her about the nature of the spell I used..."

Aria placed her hand on her father's, looking into his eyes.

Black eyes met black.

"But not to you," Snape whispered. "I could never lie to you..."

"I know, Da," Aria whispered and climbed into Snape's lap.

Her head rested on Snape's shoulder as she played with her father's hand, putting their palms against each other's.

"I want to stay with you."

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**=

Snape got another surprise when he came upstairs for bed.

"Why haven't you taken the potion?" Snape inquired, looking at Harry's unrepentantly female form.

"I did," Harry replied. "It didn't work."

"What do you mean, it didn't work?" Snape asked. "I took the same potion, and it reversed the transformation just fine. And rather quickly, I might add."

"I'm not lying, Snape," Harry repeated. "It didn't work."

Snape didn't believe him, so they went downstairs to his laboratory where he personally ladled a portion of the antidote into a vial and bid Harry to drink.

Harry obediently drank.

Nothing happened.

No transformation was forthcoming.

All he could think of was that something was blocking the transformation. Either it was a personal intolerance to the ingredients, which would have manifested in illness symptoms.

"Have you been feeling under the weather today?" Snape asked Harry. "Perhaps after taking the antidote earlier, today..."

"No," Harry denied, with a shake of his head.

That did leave one other alternative.

But surely it would require having sex more than the one time...

Snape did the spell anyway, to check.

"Well," he began, oddly subdued, "I have good news and bad news. With which shall I start?"

Harry, ever the optimist, asked for the good news first.

"The good news is that nothing is wrong with the potions. You will, in fact, be able to take it and transform back. After nine months."

"Nine months?" Harry's brow furrowed. "Why nine mon..." He grew quiet as his eyes widened, a hand closing over his mouth in disbelief.

Snape looked at Harry, considering.

"Or I can give you a special blend of poisons that will destroy the conceptus within your womb and you will be able to take the reversal potion... Now."

Harry just looked at Snape.

"Is it yours?" he asked Snape. "Yours and mine?" he clarified, as though it were the most important thing in the world.

"It is."

"Then I am keeping it."

Snape nodded, somehow not surprised. He wondered if he would have given birth to Potter's child, if the situations were reversed.

"We've always planned to have a large family. Although this is unexpected, and a bit faster than we planned..." Harry revealed.

Yes, Snape concluded. He most definitely would.

**EPILOGUE**

Harry's child was a boy, a small, bald-headed mite, ugly as a hairless monkey and absurdly like Snape (except for Harry's green eyes). No one except Harry could see anything beautiful about the infant, but everyone was generous enough to say that all ugly babies grew up to be pretty. Eventually.

The boy was named Albus Severus.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**


End file.
